Harry Potter and the Secret of Aquastilla
by Nick Ottery
Summary: Set shortly after the famous trio have left Hogwarts we travel to deepest Albania where it seems that Harry's defeat of Voldemort was not quite as final as it appeared.
1. The Valley of Aquastilla

_Disclaimer: This work of fiction is based on characters and locations created by JK Rowling. They remain her property and the property of her publishers etc. I use them solely for the purpose of writing fan fiction and do not intend to make any money or other gain from this material._

**Chapter 1: The ****Valley**** Of ****Aquastilla******

A grim twilight hung heavy about the valley nestled between its gloomy mountain peaks. The first stars of late evening had appeared, veiled as if behind fine silk. No movement could be seen amongst the dark pines held in by a brooding silence. Far above, the tips of the mountains slowly turned a crimson and bloody red as they were caught by the suns dying rays. Another long summer day was coming to a close. 

The valley itself was not particularly long. Its head was narrow and from it the mountains, like watchful figures, circled round with less than five miles from tip to its farthest reaches. An eagle catching the thermals high above saw a teardrop carved out of the land. At its peak, between two great outthrust limbs of rock came a track, a grey ribbon that wound down to the valley floor. From time to time it became lost in thick undergrowth, but as it reached the level ground it became strong and defined, before plunging into the forest. From the air it was lost to sight, nothing more could be seen to break the dense green foliage, now turned deepest black by the failing light.

This was a place sheltered deep in the Pindus Mountains of Albania. Known as the Valley of Aquastilla, it was a sacred place that pilgrims had been visiting since the middle ages. It had been chosen eighteen years earlier for the hiding place of a terrible secret. Now the enemy had chosen it to be the setting for its last tragic act.

***

From the eaves of the woods nestled deep in the valley, bats unfolded their web-like wings and took off into the gathering twilight. For a second they were free in the cool night air but then their senses felt a tugging that drew them away from the call of insects and back into the trees. Flitting from branch to branch they followed the calling that seemed, like an invisible thread to be pulling them far back into the valley. In the southwest corner again a track could be seen pushing through the undergrowth, finding its way to the bottom of a steep escarpment of rock. The forest, rolling forward like a sea broke several feet from the rock and an unnatural looking space where no tree, plant or grass grew surrounded this jagged outcrop.

Into it the bats steadily streamed, but instead of dashing their bodies on the rock they skirted it and dived deep into a narrow fissure. Almost invisible from the outside it plunged steeply downwards into the living rock of the mountains. Following it down the bats came into a chamber hollowed out of the rock. Lit by the guttural flames of torches hung on the walls the cavern was not large. It rose from the outer walls climbing gently up to a platform of shining black granite that stood in the centre topped with a stone table. The bats screamed; their collective voices amplified in the dome of rock until it sounded like an orchestra of hell. As their numbers increased they surrounded the platform in a dense spiralling fury. A black mass of energy that threatened to engulf the cavern and drive away the light

From everywhere at once a voice rent a hole in this scene of chaos

"Enough!"

As one, the mass of bats gave up their futile shrieking and fell to the floor, their bodies limp and lifeless under the sudden domination of a higher power. Upon the stone table a point of light appeared, growing outwards into an arc as it gained in both definition and thickness. Any creature that looked upon it felt a searing pain in their eyes and found a spiralling shape traced on their retina. With the same suddenness as it had appeared, the light of the arc vanished to leave a dark coiled creature. 

"Watchers of the night", the omniscient voice continued "your undiminishing desire to serve the master has not gone unnoticed. Now at the very end of it he has come to you. Look now upon the last physical manifestation of the dark Lord Voldemort!"

The snake uncoiled slowly and raised its head to survey the gathering. Its eyes glowed red like dying embers and a forked tongue flickered out briefly. Its skin was a sickly hue of green with slight ridges rising and falling along the length of its curving body.

"And so, this moment has finally come." The snake, its eyes dancing with flames, started to speak. It seemed to be addressing itself as much as the audience it held under its gaze. "Even in the depths of my darkest despair, during my last stay in this cave, I never imagined how low I would finally sink."

The snakes gaze briefly travelled around the cavern before settling on one of squirming bodies closest to the pedestal. With hardly a discernible change in its blazing eyes the snake forced its will upon the creature. The bat, sent into convulsions by that hateful stare crawled slowly forward and onto the platform. Sprawling on the hard granite it faced the snake. A hush seemed to fall upon the cavern, as every eye still capable of sight turned to the pathetic creature cowering before the serpent.

With striking athleticism the snake sprang forward, its jaws gaping wide to reveal large curling fangs which it sank deep into the bat's soft underside. Raised upon high, the bats struggling body could be seen by all in the cavern and only seconds passed before it gave up the struggle for life. Now the snake, opening its jaws wider, swallowed the creature whole.

"Here at the end, even I, the great Lord Voldemort am touched by your…" Here the snake paused, as if sensing a change in the atmosphere. A commotion amongst the assembled creatures had started at the entrance to the cave. The snake, sensing something wrong, drew its head up, trying to look round with small jerking movements. Then in the corner near the fissured opening a shadow started to grow. To the snake the shadow seemed to rise out of the rocks until it took the form of a tall cloaked man. The snake, moments ago standing tall and proud, now cowered down on the pedestal. Its eyes started to dim as it saw the figure raise a pointed object above its head.

"You!" the snake hissed, as the cloaked figure shouted,

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"


	2. The Long Night

**Chapter 2: The Long Night**

Rising out of the tear drop valley, the track soon passed between the grasp of finger-like rocks before falling steadily down into lush green woodland. Here the Pindus Mountains, though still rearing up on either side, gave in to gently rolling foothills. Ancient beech and ash trees rose out of a soft undergrowth where many species of wild flowers, ferns and mosses grew. The track picked its way carefully downhill, following the course of a young stream, chattering away in a narrow channel between mossy banks. Several miles below the valley head this wooded land gave out into a wide area of tilled ground. The mountains arced out to surround this plain. At the centre, in a slight hollow, lay a village, wood smoke gently rising from its many chimneys. The houses were small, only one or two storied with red tiled roofs. Many were built from traditional dark timber, their sharp gables hiding small sash windows and patterned tiles. Set at the end of a small side street there stood the skeletal ruins of a small church. A single remaining arch rose from the ground where it looked over a small cemetery set behind high whitewashed walls.

This was the village of Ohridska, where the stream, now several feet wide after descending through the lush hills, wound its way between the houses. The sun still stood high in the south western sky, but the labourers returning from the fields signalled the afternoons close and the start of yet another idyllic summer evening. The village green, with the stream running through it was the focal point of the small community. Here stood the inn, and several small shops including the butchers and grocers. As the sun started to cast elongated shadows, people bustled about hurrying to finish their daily business. As they went to and fro they were wary of a certain feeling they associated with the valley not more than five miles away to the south.

In the very centre of the green where the earth rose up slightly there stood an ancient oak. Its roots had run rampant around the area, twisting and coiling in and out of the ground. In places they had formed rudimentary seats which had become the ideal place for the older villagers to meet and sit and talk with one another.

As the day drew to a close, two men could be found sitting, deep in conversation below the oak's spreading boughs. One had a full head of silvery hair complimented by a bristling moustache and a round face that bore deep lines where it had oftentimes cracked into laughter. The other was slightly younger with a face less troubled by the years, though his head was almost entirely bald.

"Yes I tell you" the grey haired man was saying "He passed through not two hours ago. I had just returned from my usual afternoon walk – you know the one, up past the Krasniki's place – I was heading past the church when out comes this stranger. Took me back he did, what with his strange get up and all"

"The church?" the younger man asked

"Yes, I think he had been wandering around the cemetery" the older man replied.

"Did you speak to him?" the younger man enquired

"Well, in a way I suppose I did. I said 'Good afternoon' to be polite and all, but the look he gave me back wasn't half queer. Had a sort of maniacal look in his eye, you know the look old Mother Istogu gets when Luan comes home late?"

The bald man nodded

"Well, that was the look in his eye. As though he had murder in mind, you know?"

"And what did he look like?"

"Well, he had this great big cloak on – it looked pretty travel-worn to me. His hair was black and looked in quite a state. But what really struck me were his eyes. He was wearing glasses, though they had seen better days, but behind them were these brilliant green eyes"

"Green you say?"

"Yes, bright green. The way the forest looks in the springtime. You know – full of youthful energy"  
  
The two men sat in silence for a moment, thinking of their days as young lads, playing in the very woods that that stranger had disappeared off into only a few hours ago.

Slowly, the younger man came out of his dreams

"Anyway, what business did he have going off…that way?"

"I really don't know, it has been a long time since anyone went off towards…that place, and even longer since any…."

"…returned" his friend finished the sentence for him, nodding his head slowly.

The two friends exchanged knowing looks. As they went on to discuss more village gossip the younger man realised that there might be more to this mysterious stranger. His friend told him that yet again the bus from Korce (the villagers' only real contact with the rest of the world) had failed to appear. This was the fourth time in two weeks, and murmurings in the inn's common room told of strange happenings. There had been unexpected mudslides on the road and trees uprooted, thrown across the highway. The two men shook their heads, grumbling about the times they found themselves in. When they were youths, only the head of the village had journeyed to Korce and no-one had heard of tarmac roads. 

As they talked the deep purple of late twilight stole across the ground.

"Anyway, look, it is getting late. I really ought to be getting back", the older man stood slowly, stretching his back as if unbending a stiff piece of wire. Picking up his stick that had been resting against the trunk of the tree, he walked slowly away from the green and into one of the now silent side streets.

The other man had remained and now sat staring vacantly at the stream drifting by just beyond his feet. Every so often his mouth formed words but no sound came out. His face was contorted as he furrowed his brow, deep in thought.

Even though it was now nearly midnight, and the sun had finally disappeared beyond the western hills, a faint twilight hung around the green. It was still the middle of summer, and one of the longest and hottest any of the villagers could remember. Soon enough the sun would be crawling back above the horizon to mark the beginning of yet another sweltering day. A thought crept briefly into the mans head, suggesting he go home, but he dismissed it as he felt the cool night breeze rustling in the leaves above him. 

_This is the night_

He thought, determined to sit out and see what further events the hours of darkness had in store for the village of Ohridska.

***

Two hours passed with very little happening. There had been a heated argument in a house on the opposite side of the green, but the sounds of anger and rage had died down a good half hour ago. Endri, the old man, was still sitting on the root gazing up to the silent peaks beyond the sloping roofs of the village. The last time anyone had ventured up…that way, the night sky had been disturbed by arcing lights and strange sounds. It had looked somewhat like how his Norwegian cousin described the Aurora Borealis. Although, Endri thought, not even that empyreal phenomenon could rival the spectacle he had seen above Aquastilla. However, this night, there had been nothing - only the hooting of an owl in the upper branches of the oak had kept Endri from drifting off completely.

_Maybe he won't return_

Endri thought to himself. It certainly had been a long time since he had left the village. Even if his business was…delicate, he should easily have walked the five miles back down from the valley by now.

_Unless something…happened_

Endri thought this was very likely. Since the beginning of the summer a sense of dread had been growing amongst the villagers. Such a feeling had not been known for four years, even in this isolated part of the world. That time the villagers' worst suspicions had been confirmed when the body of a young woman had been found in a shallow grave just up the track towards the valley. She was from England and had travelled to Albania for her summer holiday. Staying at the inn for a couple of day's rest bite, she had quickly made a good impression on the locals. She was in her middle ages and had a curious habit of forgetting things almost immediately, especially when it came to her occupation. Despite this she was well-liked and so it was with great sadness that the villagers had carried her down to the village and given the body a decent burial. She now rested in peace in the churchyard. 

Months after the lingering horror had disappeared, rumour came back to them that a sorcerer of some sort had been hiding out in the valley. Apparently he had moved on to England, or so the rumours told.

For Endri it was too much of a coincidence that this sense of dread had returned, closely followed by a mysterious stranger in odd get-up? Had he gone up the track to meet the same fate as had befallen that poor woman?

***

Another half hour had passed and there was now a definite lightness tainting the eastern sky. Endri, his insides engaged in harsh debate through the night, had finally made his mind up to head up the track towards Aquastilla and see if he could find any trace of the stranger.

As the light gradually increased Endri's spirits rose. He sniffed the air, sensing a freshness which had long been absent. His nostrils, accustomed to the lurid stench of swift decay which had come with this feeling of dread, flared as they took in this new cleanliness. The night air seemed to move as though the dread feeling that had hung over the village was being dispersed on the breeze blowing down from the mountains. 

Invigorated by this, Endri took up his sturdy walking stick and traversed the green. He only had to pass a few houses, including a recently abandoned one on the left hand side before he had left the village. Striking up the overgrown track that followed the stream falling from the slopes ahead he made his way into the forest. 

Ten minutes of laboured climbing brought him to the crest of the first hill beyond the village. Pausing, he turned back to face northwards where he could make out the village nestling in its peaceful surrounds. Taking a deep breath, he studied its angular roofs, wondering whether he hadn't made a mistake in doing this. Although the village was sanctuary, the old man was beginning to understand that something was calling him on, up into the mountains. He still stood a moment, his head bowed in reverence. This was the spot where that woman had been found. Even now, four years on he still had vivid memories of that day.

After one last look around the quiet spot, Endri once more turned southwards and continued on his way. As the sun crept slowly into the sky, the forest around him came to life. Birds struck up song above him, and gentle rustlings began to disturb the undergrowth. His hesitant steps took him through clumps of thyme and marjoram that, as they bruised, released their heady scents into the air. It seemed that the world was rejuvenated, newly born in that moment for him. The forest canopy let chinks of brilliant sunshine through and the dappled shadows played on the greens that surrounded him.

Then, in the distance, beneath a spreading beech, upon a carpet of crocuses there lay what seemed to the old man a sleeping childlike figure. Endri checked his steps as he came upon this sight. Swathed in a stained and muddy cloak the figure appeared to be that of a grown man, huddled in a foetal position, his knees drawn up below his chin. The rest of his face was obscured by the hood of his cloak.

Endri took a few tentative steps closer, pausing a few feet away from the man. His awareness, heightened by his revitalising walk through the forest, could detect that same sense of horror that had been felt in the village for the last few weeks. However, as he stood there, his heart beating dully against his chest he decided that the feeling had changed. That this trepidation was just a memory, a memory of terrible things not long passed, but gone all the same.

_Not another one…another one can't be dead_

Endri thought to himself furiously as he kneeled down by the head of the man and drew back the hood. He was shocked to see a face that seemed ten years older than it ought to have looked. The cheeks were hollow, large dark marks showed under the eyes. For a moment, Endri thought him dead, but then he noticed the skin. Although it was pale there was a definite clamminess to it that suggested sickness rather than death. Further removing the hood, Endri revealed jet black hair that was pasted across the forehead, glistening with freshly beaded sweat.

It was clear to Endri that this man was very ill. There was no hope of Endri carrying the man back to the village, and it would take too long to go for help. Instead Endri tried to make the man as comfortable as possible. Gently he pulled his legs out from under his chin. This allowed the man to lie flat on the ground. As Endri was doing this he noticed that the man was sweating even more profusely. He needed something cool. Away to his right, Endri heard the stream that he had followed up from the village.

Tearing off a corner of the stranger's cloak, Endri cautiously made his way down a steep bank to where the stream chattered away amongst the moss and ferns. Stooping down he put the rag of material into the water and let it soak through. With a twist of his hands he drained the excess moisture and then with the help of some sturdy roots pulled himself back up to where the ill man lay.

A shudder ran through the seemingly lifeless body as Endri pressed the cooling rag to the man's forehead. Seeing this motion, Endri smiled, and noticed a slight warm breath against his hand which was close to the young mans barely open mouth. As he watched, something akin to a smile started to curl up the bloodless lips and the man's eyelids flickered open.

Endri stared at the man's green eyes.

_Just as Pjeter described them_

As this thought past through Endri's mind the man managed to focus his eyes and draw them up, away from the green forest floor and up to the elderly man's time worn face. The curl of his lips grew more apparent, and his eyes, dull until now, seemed to brighten with a new energy. His mouth moved slightly, and he mumbled something unintelligible.

"What is your name?" asked Endri

The man, still pale and clammy looked back at him, now with a slightly wary expression.

_His pale complexion suggests he is not from these parts_

And so Endri, whose daughter taught English at a school in Korce, hesitantly repeated his question, this time in English

"What is…you name?"

Comprehension appeared on the mans face and lifting himself slightly on his elbows he spoke, his voice hoarse

"Potter", the man choked, "Harry Potter".


	3. The Forgotten Grave

**Chapter 3: The Forgotten Grave**

Harry Potter groaned as a he felt something sharp dig into the small of his back. He dimly remembered collapsing under a tree, but then it had been dark. Now he felt sunlight dancing across his face and a cool breeze. As he came to, he became aware of his body, and how bad it felt. It was as though he was just getting over a serious case of flu. His joints felt stiff, and his head throbbed dully. The only thing that seemed out of place was that his face, unlike the rest of his burning body, felt cool. With a certain amount of trepidation Harry opened his eyes. It took a moment for them to get a grip of themselves and start to bring the world into focus. 

There was something odd about the scene that met him; around him he saw a forest, illuminated by bright early morning sun, but in front of him was the face of an old man, apprehension weaving his brow into a series of ridges. Harry opened his mouth, trying to form words in his parched throat, but only a disjointed mumbling passed his lips.

The man gently rearranged the damp rag which, Harry had realised, was the cause of the blissful coolness his forehead felt. Then the man spoke:

"Si e ke emrin?"

These words, though completely incomprehensible, seemed to act like a key to the locked door of Harry's brain. The door, suddenly opened, released a rush of memories from the last few hours.

_Albania__….Bertha Jorkins….the valley…..the cavern…..the snake!_

As a kaleidoscope, these images danced in front of Harry. 

"What is…your name?" 

It took a moment for Harry to jump out of these visions and back to the present. The old man, in stuttering English, had asked him a question. With a hand on his throat Harry again tried to speak

"Potter….Harry Potter", he croaked.

***

After a couple of moments staring at Harry, the strange old man had taken the rag and disappeared. Harry was left, lying in a patch of crocuses, staring up at a blue sky seen through swaying green leaves and branches. Now that he was a bit more engaged with the world around him, Harry realised he needed to get back to civilization and get in contact with the Ministry of Magic in England. He knew it was vitally important he informed the appropriate people as to what had happened in Aquastilla.

Harry gingerly eased himself up. As he did so his hand brushed against his glasses lying on the ground. Putting them on, he looked around at the peaceful forest. 

_Where had that man disappeared to? _

Anxiously, Harry stood up and peered about. 

_Surely he was just a muggle – _he would never have recognised Harry's name_ - surely?_

Swaying as he stood, still unsteady on his feet, Harry reeled round as a rustling started behind him. Realising what was happening Harry hurried forward and held out his hand for the man to grab. He was puffing and wheezing as Harry pulled him over the top of the bank he had been climbing up. Harry looked down, and saw a stream several feet below. Turning back, Harry found the man proffering the rag; once again it was damp from the stream he had soaked it in.

Harry had noticed the missing piece of material in his cloak, but took the rag from the man gratefully. Pressing it to his face, he absorbed its cooling waters. Slowly the coolness started to reach the rest of his body. Harry felt his breathing, harsh and deep until now, slow down.

Standing a few feet away, the man was looking at Harry with a look of great concern.

"I'm ok", said Harry, sticking his thumb up to convey his meaning.

The man nodded slowly, and then beckoned Harry with his hand. Still pressing the rag to his head, Harry followed the man,

"How far is the village?" Harry asked the man.

"Short walk, a half hour maybe", the man replied, not looking back.

They started along the track, walking beside the stream that Harry had followed the previous evening. The action of walking seemed to be having a beneficial effect on Harry's beaten body. As they clambered down slopes, stepping over rocks and up-thrust tree roots, Harry's joints started to move with greater ease. His head was also feeling much clearer and he started to breathe in deeply, enjoying the fresh morning air. Inside he was desperately trying not to look at the visions of the last evening that kept flashing in front of him.

Harry couldn't understand why he felt this way. He _had _thrown Voldemort down and this time it felt final. He had successfully rid the world of a great threat, and had managed to avoid the death that so many had predicted. Then his heart skipped a beat. He had suddenly thought of those people back home, his friends who he had abandoned with hardly a word, to track down Voldemort. 

He screwed up his fists as he thought of his best friend Ron Weasley. He had had his magical powers burnt out when he threw himself in front of his sister Ginny and best friend Hermione Granger. Against all advice, they had foolishly come to the confrontation with Voldemort, who had tried to remove them first. His face contorted with rage as he thought of poor Neville Longbottom, lying on a bed in St Mungo's next to his parents. He had been driven to madness by the cruciatus curse, administered by Voldemort in a secret attack before the main strike on Hogwarts had taken place. His insides turned as he thought of the students who had been killed as Voldemort, screaming in agony under Harry's curses, brought the North Tower of Hogwarts, including the grand staircase, crumbling down.

He had left two weeks after they had finished Hogwarts, amidst the joyful celebrations that witches and wizards all across the country had still been participating in. All of it was to mark Harry's triumph over Voldemort at Hogwarts but he knew they were premature. He had left because he knew there was still some essence of Voldemort out there. He had left to track down that essence and destroy it before it could inflict any more pain and suffering on Harry's world.

Harry was brought out of his dark thoughts by the old man who had stopped just ahead of him. They had reached the village. The sun had now risen above the eastern peaks and was casting its glorious ray's upon the houses surrounding the green. It was still early, and the village seemed an oasis of tranquillity and peace. Harry felt an overwhelming desire for sleep come over him.

The man led him across the village green, and over to the inn. It was easily the largest building in the area; a three storied main building gave on to slightly lower wings on either side. The roof was tiled in varying hues of ochre red, and large gabled windows stood out along both sides. Above the front door there hung a sign, creaking in the slight wind. It had a painting of a rather plump woman standing over a drunken man lying curled up on the floor. Harry had seen the inn the previous evening, its door thrown open to the street, muted laughter coming from within. Now though, as Harry and the man stood in front of it, the inn appeared silent and closed.

Harry guessed it was still only around six-thirty in the morning, but despite this, the man took his stick and rapped it smartly on the inn door. They stood waiting patiently, and it was half a minute or more before the door was finally opened. 

Standing in the opening was a short woman, her brown hair caught up in a pink hairnet, still tying the cord of a dressing gown that had obviously been hastily thrown on moments ago.

She looked from the old man, to Harry, and then back to the man who launched into a frenzied talk. The conversation stretched on, with wild gestures from both sides. Harry got the impression that he wasn't in the least bit welcome at the inn, but it seemed the old man was arguing for him with great vigour. Finally with a resigned huff, the old woman stood aside to let Harry step inside. Harry looked back, and tried to express his gratitude to the man. It didn't seem to have the right effect, as the man looked at him with increased concern, but the woman cut short his objections by finally shutting the door on him.

Harry found himself in the darkened common room of the inn. Small tables stood around with stools neatly piled on top. A shutter was down in front of the bar, and the remains of a fire were visible in the grate.

The woman prodded him in the back, indicating a narrow staircase to the left of the bar. He climbed up and the woman showed him a door on the left at the end of the passage. Harry opened it to find a small bedroom, complete with a single bed, washstand and chipped sink. Turning to the woman to say thank you, he found she had gone, footsteps echoing back along the passage.

Harry shut the door, and without even removing his cloak threw himself on to the bed where he succumbed almost immediately to a deep and peaceful sleep.

***

Several hours later Harry woke up. The sun, once again sinking towards the western horizon, was shining through the small window set into the wall to the left of the door. It was casting long beams across his pillow, and evidently was the reason for his rather abrupt awakening.

He sat up and rubbed his knuckles into his sleep-shut eyes. He breathed in deeply, and sat reflecting on his undisturbed rest.

_No nightmares_

Harry's sleep had been disturbed by terrible nightmares since the day he had thrown down Voldemort at Hogwarts. Despite the fact that he had almost perfectly mastered occlumency these visions were still getting through. He had decided they were probably ordinary 'muggle' nightmares, but even so they were still unpleasant. However, his sleep in the little room that day had been completely and utterly undisturbed. Harry hoped it was because of what he had accomplished last night, rather than simply because he had been exhausted.

The sun outside indicated that Harry had slept the majority of the day away. He had lost his watch, but knew that he would have to get a move on if he was to get something to eat. Looking out of the small window, he saw the ruins of the village church silhouetted against the sinking sun, and behind it, not more than a couple of miles away, the mountains once again rising up out of the plain.

He shrugged off the cloak and went to the washstand. After running the water for a couple of minutes, until it was piping hot, he put the plug in and allowed the sink to fill up. He then took off his t-shirt lowered his face to the sink and plunged it into the steaming liquid. The effect was instantly gratifying, as it felt like an ages worth of dust and grime was scoured from his face by the water.

A flannel cloth stood on a rack near the sink. He soaked it in the water then started vigorously scrubbing his face, hands, arms and bare chest. Catching a glance of himself in the mirror he saw that his skin was marked with scratches and bruises – evidently souvenirs of his decent from the valley down that track in the deep black of night. 

Each time he returned the cloth to the water the muddied colour of it deepened. Finally, he changed the water for some clean, gave himself a final scrub with the cloth and then reached for one of the towels. Feeling much better he put his t-shirt back on and turned back to the mirror.

_I'm back_ he thought as he examined his reflection. His skin looked pink and glowing and his eyes no longer seemed weighted down by tiredness and anxiety. Even so he still looked thin and gaunt. 

_Nothing a good square meal can't mend.___

Folding up his cloak and tucking it under his arm he took a final look around the room, opened the door and set off in search of some food

***

Harry descended the narrow stairs to find the common room packed with people. There was much merriment, and this time, unlike last night, the laughter seemed natural and without inhibitions. At a few tables people were eating what looked to be a delicious meat stew. Harry picked his way through the throng to the bar, where the landlady he had met earlier on, was serving the excited customers.

When she had finished serving the gentleman next to Harry she came up to him with a quizzical look on her face. Harry simply pointed over to where someone was sitting with a plate of stew in front of them and put up a single finger. He hoped his smile would do the rest. To his relief the lady gave a curt nod and disappeared into the back of the bar.

A moment later she returned with a plate full of steaming hot stew. She also poured Harry a tankard of ale, and set this down with a piece of paper on which she had scribbled a number. Harry set his cloak on the bar so he could get at his pockets and searched for his bag of Albanian coins. Bringing it out, he counted out the appropriate change, and paid the lady. He hoped that the price included the accommodation as he only had a few coins left now.

Carrying the plate and tankard, Harry went and sat over at an unoccupied corner table where he quickly began to eat.

The food was delicious and hot, and it took Harry no time at all to polish the lot off. He had settled down with his ale, sitting back to watch the common room activities, when he heard a female voice behind him.

"Mr Potter?"

"Err, yes", Harry replied, turning around to face a young woman, dark hair falling around her shoulders.

"I am very please to meet you. My name is Zabela Murati, I am the daughter of Endri", she said, indicating the old man who had found Harry in the woods that morning. He was sitting on the far side of the common room, deep in discussion with a silver haired gentleman.

"Oh", said Harry, "Hello, pleased to meet you. You speak English very well".

The woman smiled, her voice was rich and deep, with only the faintest trace of an eastern-European accent, "Thank you, I teach it at a school in Korce".

"Korce?"

"It is a large town, not far from here."

"Ah", said Harry, glancing over at the old man. "Could you please pass on my sincerest thanks to your father? I am very grateful to him for finding me this morning. I don't think my feeble hand gestures really conveyed my meaning earlier on"

Zabela laughed, "No, he thought you were becoming ill again!"

"Oh well", Harry grinned sheepishly.

"Well, as you can see, your coming to the village has certainly done it some good. I haven't seen a crowd like this for two, three months now. I think everyone is wondering - what exactly was it that took you up that way last night?"

Harry sighed. He had been desperately trying to come up with a convincing cover story since he had come into the inn. Unfortunately he had utterly failed.

"I'm an ornithologist; I had heard that a particularly rare breed of…swallow had been seen above this village. So I went looking for it. I had climbed that beech your father found me lying under; it seemed a good vantage point. I guess I must have fallen asleep and fallen out"

Harry swallowed hard, he had tried to maintain eye contact with Zabela, but it had been impossible.

"But…" she started.

However Harry cut her off, "Look", he said, looking her straight in the eye, his green eyes steady and unblinking, "Everything is going to be alright, I promise".

For a moment it seemed as though she was going to ask something more, but after an awkward pause, during which she seemed to be searching for the right words, she slowly nodded her head, "Ok".

Harry knew this wasn't really enough, but he couldn't think of a way to explain to this muggle what had transpired last night. Harry cast around for something to turn the conversation to when he remembered what he had seen the previous evening.

_That strange gravestone_

It had been half buried under a growth of ivy, stuck in the very corner of the small cemetery. Whilst the rest of the graves had been well tended, this one looked like it had been abandoned for many years.

"Could you come and translate something for me?"

"Of course, where is it?"

"It is a grave, in the cemetery".

Zabela hesitated, if only for a second, before nodding, "Sure, I'll see what I can do".

Harry went and put his tankard down on the bar, then headed for the door. He paused on the threshold as Zabela exchanged a few words with her father. Then she joined him and the two left the inn, walked around the corner, down the short street and into the cemetery.

As it had been last night, the cemetery stood silent in the late evening sun. They picked their way carefully through the rows of headstones, arranged in the earth like crooked teeth. On all the graves there grew beautiful flowers in bright reds, yellows, purples and greens. The cemetery was well tended, with the grass short, and the headstones, polished grey-white marble, clean and glowing in the golden sunset.

It was strange to see the church lying beyond the far cemetery wall. In complete contrast to the cemetery, it was ruined, and looked like it had been left well alone. Ivy straddled what remained of the walls and the grass grew long amongst the toppled stones.

"What happened to the church?" Harry enquired, as they walked between the stones.

"Oh, you don't know anything about Albanian history?"

"Actually, no, I'm afraid I don't".

He heard a 'tut' behind him, "Don't they teach you anything in school?"

Harry was about to reply, and then thought better of it. He seemed to vaguely remember Professor Binns, the History of Magic teacher at Hogwarts, telling them about some Goblin rebellion or other that had started in Albania, but he didn't think that was what Zabela meant.

"Well, Albania came under the rule of a communist dictator called Enver Hoxha shortly after the war. He declared an atheist state and ordered that all religious buildings be destroyed. My father was here when they came; they hanged the priest and then burnt the church. Nobody has dared step near it since. We were allowed to keep using the cemetery, but only state approved burial ceremonies were used."

Harry had reached the first grave he wanted to show Zabela. He stopped in front of it, letting her take a look at it.

"This is it - what does the inscription say?"

Zabela frowned at the writing for a moment, then turned to Harry,

_"Bertha Jorkins_

_Died on __the seventeenth of July 1994___

_Though she died alone, she rests now with us all"_

Harry stood there in silence. After a moment Zabela spoke again, this time very quietly

"Did you know her?"

"Oh", said Harry, he hadn't thought that his interest would raise questions, "I was just looking around last night – I was curious as to what an Englishwoman was doing buried in an Albanian grave yard".

Harry didn't want to mention the fact that he had spent the past few weeks searching dozens of cemeteries in this region looking for the name Bertha Jorkins.

"We found her, she was dead. Lying on the ground, near where my father found you this morning".

Harry's eyes widened as he took in the implications of this. This was why the man had looked at him with so much concern; he had thought there had been another murder. Gathering himself he tried to sound calm,

"She had gone up that track alone?"

"No-one really knows what happened that night. She was talking with someone in the inn, a small…I am not sure what the word is...like a rat? A man anyway, but the next moment he had vanished and she was leaving the inn. Not a word to anyone."

"Pettigrew", Harry whispered under his breath. 

_The murderous fool._

"Sorry?"

"Nothing, I was just thinking of something, but never mind, it's nothing".

They stood for a moment in respectful silence, Harry's head bowed to the grave of a witch who he had never met, and who had unwittingly almost got him killed three years ago. Harry wasn't sure what to feel, but a glance told him that Zabela was studying his face closely, tears pricking her eyes.

With a cough, Harry cleared his throat and again set off through the cemetery. This time he was headed for the far corner. This was the closest point to the ruined church and was hidden in deep shadows as the sun had sunk. He made his way through a tangle of brambles and paused in front of another head stone.

Looking around for Zabela, he saw she had stopped and was watching him. Her face looked pale, but her eyes seemed to flash with anger. Harry beckoned her over.

"Look, I found this last night. It doesn't look like anyone has touched it in years. What do these words…?"

But he was cut short. Zabela, after making her way through the bramble patch, shot him a pale glance before turning to look at the grave Harry had uncovered

"Why did you have to come to this place? I will never utter _those _words, here or anywhere! Here", she said as she took a scrap of paper and a pen out of bag, "Since you asked for help I will write them down, but then you must leave".

She furiously scribbled a few short lines on the paper.

"Here, take it", she spat, thrusting the paper into Harry's hand, "and then leave and don't ever come back!"

With that she turned on her heels and walked out of the cemetery without a backward look.

Harry stood staring after her for quite a few minutes, a slightly bemused expression on his face, as he put his heavy travelling cloak back on. Then slowly he looked down, unfolding the crumpled piece of paper she had shoved into his hand. He looked at it, and froze. Hastily he shoved it down into a pocket inside his cloak, at the same time pulling out his wand.

For a moment Harry hesitated, unsure of where he wanted to go. He watched as the figure of Zabela turned the corner next to the inn and made his mind up. Holding his wand above him he thought of being back in England, in London. With a crack, the cloaked man vanished into the calm evening, never to be seen or heard of in that village again.


	4. Adrift in the City

**Chapter 4: Adrift in the City**

Harry apparated into a small street just off Charing Cross road in the west end of London. With the time difference compared to Albania, it was still early evening in London, the sun high above the tall, dark houses he found himself facing. He removed his conspicuous cloak, and tried to fold it tight. Glancing around him he found this street to be deserted, except for a cat slinking amongst the rubbish bins, two doors down. He hurried around the corner and into the busy road.

Charing Cross road was heaving with traffic. Irate drivers were beating on their horns as scooters sped between the gaps that seemed to magically appear between the snarled up vehicles. The pavements thronged with shoppers and business people hurrying home, or to the restaurants that lined this part of the street. Everyone appeared to be dressed smartly, or so it seemed to Harry, as he glanced down at his sweaty t-shirt, ripped jeans and muddied trainers.

Harry kept up a brisk pace, passing between the people. A pocket in the crowd seemed to appear around him as he moved along. Whether it was his appearance or the determination he felt sure people could see in his eyes – the crowds was eager to let him through. He moved quickly down the road and was soon scanning the establishments he was passing on the left hand side. A bar - a newsagent - a big book store - then he turned into the next building, a shabby pub that, like him, everyone else on the street seemed determined to avoid.

Once through the heavy wood door he stood standing in the entrance hall of the Leaky Cauldron, the wizarding pub that marked the barrier between muggle London and Diagon Alley. It was very dingy inside this narrow hallway which was lit only by a couple of flickering candles. In their light he could make out flyers for a Weird Sisters gig held last March and a couple of yellowed parchments that appeared to be wanted posters. Taking advantage of the gloomy solitude, Harry briskly shook his cloak out and put it on, drawing the hood up so that it obscured his head and face. Harry was anxious to keep knowledge of his presence back in England a secret for as long as possible. The cloak, a conspicuous item in muggle London, would disguise him perfectly in the Leaky Cauldron, where goblins and Hags were regulars among the clientele.

Taking a deep breath he stepped through the door in front of him and crossed the almost deserted lounge of the pub. Trying to stop himself from running, he glanced neither to the left nor the right until he had reached the exit towards the back of the room. As he stepped through he thought he heard a muffled voice behind him, but he didn't stop to find out and hurried through, closing the door behind him. Breathing a sigh of relief he stepped forward to find himself in the familiar back alley, a brick wall rising up above him.

Now he took his wand out, tapped the appropriate brick, and stepped back, allowing the archway to appear in front of him. He walked through to find himself in a street, almost deserted except for a few figures darting between the shops. On his left, a small witch was taking back in display racks of pewter cauldrons. Further on, owls were flying out of the door of Eeylops Owl Emporium, evidently being let out for their night-time flight. Harry passed all these by, his eyes set on the large white facade of Gringotts Bank further down the street. A goblin, standing outside resting on what looked to be a short spear, showed it was still open. Harry dashed up the stairs, through the heavily gilded doors, and into the dazzling, marble atrium.

Once inside he located a goblin assistant and within a few minutes they were speeding along deep under London. When they arrived, Harry took a few moments to inspect the contents of his vault. Despite the fact that it was only two months since he had last been here, he had been very nervous whilst away. Looking around he found that his trunk was there, filled with all his spell books, cauldron and other instruments he had used whilst at school. His Firebolt stood leaning against one corner whilst another smaller trunk held all his clothes. There was also still a considerable amount of gold Galleons, silver Sickles and bronze Knuts lying stacked in piles around the vault. He collected a pair of jeans, and some t-shirts from the small trunk of clothes. These he stuffed into a pocket of his travelling cloak. He also took out his empty money bag and replenished it with some of the coins. This was all he really needed for now; once he was settled down he could come back and retrieve the rest of his possessions.

A few minutes later he had returned to the street, his pockets now considerably heavier, with the weight of Sickles and Galleons he had taken from his vault. He now turned right and headed further down the alley, soon coming to a large building on the left. A sign above the door said 'London and International Post Office'. Again drawing his cloak tight round him Harry went inside.

The sight that greeted him took him back completely. He had been impressed with the Post Office in Hogsmeade, but this was ten times as big. The main room was simply enormous, stretching upwards to rafters of thickset wood at least three stories above him. A long counter stood the length of the far wall, very similar to the one in Gringotts. A few positions were occupied by witches and wizards, shuffling pieces of parchment or weighing strange shaped packages. Behind the long wooden counter there were hundreds upon hundreds of cages. Many of them contained birds of some kind or another. The ones that didn't were being cleaned by uniformed wizards on high ladders. Harry could make out the effect of powerful scourgify spells being used as droppings and skeletons came flying out of the cages into large sacks arranged below. Each cage was colour coded and birds were constantly flying in and out

Along the right hand side of the room there were desks arranged and it was to one of these that Harry went to first. Here there were quills and ink wells, provided by the post office for its customers use. Harry pulled out a piece of parchment from his cloak and leant over to write a letter.

_Dear Mr Weasley,_

_I have just this moment arrived back in __England__ after a short trip to __Albania__. Although I would rather tell you the details in person, please believe me when I say that Voldemort will no longer cause any trouble to the magical community here or anywhere. I have the ashes of his final incarnation that I am sure your staff will be able to identify as those of T.M. Riddle._

_Please could you tell me when it would be convenient to see you, preferably in __London__._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Harry Potter_

Harry read through it a couple of times to make sure he was happy with it, then folded it up carefully, before going over to the counter. He made sure his hood was drawn tight around his head before approaching a witch who was sitting bent over a small package which she was gingerly tapping with her wand

"Excuse me please", said Harry, leaning on the counter in front of the book.

The witch looked up and frowned, "Just a moment sir." She continued to tap at the package which had been tied up tightly with string. As her wand touched it the string coiled out and tried to wrap itself around the wand.

"Ah, confound this self-tying string", she exclaimed, pulling her wand free, "Even a little bit too much and it starts trying to tie up other things. We have had three owls almost strangled to death by this stuff in the last week." The witch pulled her wand away from the coiling string and muttered, "Expelliarmus". The string uncoiled itself and fell placidly on the counter. The witch briskly brushed it into a bin, took out some string from a drawer and quickly tied up the parcel before placing it to one side.

"Now, how can I help you, ah, sir?"

"This is a priority letter – Arthur Weasley, Ministry of Magic, Department of Magical Law Enforcement please", said Harry handing over the letter.

"Certainly sir", the witch replied, placing the letter into a small metal box that appeared to look like a muggle microwave. She smiled as the machine lit up, and pinged. "Security", she explained, signalling to a small owl in a cage painted with brilliant yellow and black stripes. As it swooped down she continued, "These are our fastest carrier owls". She tied the parchment to its outstretched leg, "It should be there in five minutes". As soon as the letter was tied, the owl gave a quick hoot and zipped off and out of one of the open windows, set high in the wall facing Diagon Alley. "And that will be 3 sickles please sir", the witch said starting to make a note in a large ledger she had pulled out from a different drawer.

Harry paid the witch, thanked her and turned to leave the post office

"Oh, and Mr Potter!" Harry froze as the witch called surreptitiously to him. "There is a letter here for you!" she continued as he once more sought to draw his cloak around him and shuffled back to the counter.

"But, how-"

"Oh, never mind that. And don't you worry, discretion is our watchword", the witch said, handing him a letter sealed with a blob of red wax.

"Thanks, you're not going to…?"

The witch shook her head. "The young witch who gave it me made it very clear I would not enjoy the consequences if I were to tell anyone I had seen you".

"Oh, right, thanks", Harry repeated awkwardly, and without a backwards glance he hurried out of the post office.

Although Harry felt slightly calmer, now that he had set things in motion at the Ministry he was still slightly flustered by how easily that witch had recognised him. Unless… Hastily he ducked into the shadows between the Magical Menagerie and Gambol and Japes so that he could read the letter. He closely examined the seal, and smiled in relief as he recognised the pug-nosed cat's face that was pressed into the wax. He carefully slit the seal, and unfolded the letter. It was short, but he immediately recognised Hermione's neat, flowing handwriting. Of course, she would have probably told that witch to expect someone wrapped in a tattered cloak, sending letters to Mr Weasley. He read:

_Dear Harry_

_If you are reading this letter it means that you are safely back in __London__. I am so glad that you have made it back alright. If you are looking for a place to stay whilst you get yourself sorted you would be most welcome at my new house. The address is_

_23 Eavesham Terrace_

_Bethnal Green_

_London___

_Love_

_Hermione_

Harry smiled to himself. Although he could tell by the terseness of her writing, Hermione was angry with him, at least he knew that someone still cared what happened to him. He gently folded the letter up and tucked it into his innermost cloak pocket, setting off back up Diagon Alley.

He at least had somewhere to head for now, but Bethnal Green? How was he going to get there?

His brisk pace had already taken him back down to the arched exit that led to Leaky Cauldron. Once again trying to ensure he was completely concealed he made his way back into Muggle London.

***

Long apparition trips made Harry feel queasy so he decided to try his luck on the tube. Charing Cross road was definitely quieter as he stepped out of the shabby pub into the muggle world. A few cabs roared down the street, but the majority of activity was in the bars and restaurants where Harry could glimpse life going on merrily inside.

His stomach gave a rumble. Although it was actually still an hour or so before he had eaten that stew, Harry had done a lot of walking and was feeling ready for another meal.

As he walked down the road in the late evening sun he wondered whether Hermione would be up to feeding him, or whether he should stop for a quick bite at a restaurant. He then remembered that he was seriously low on muggle money, so he soldiered on, reaching the escalator at Leicester Square tube station where he descended into the stuffy twilight zone of the London Underground.

The journey was uneventful. He took the Piccadilly Line to Holborn, and then changed onto the Central Line, disembarking five stops later at Bethnal Green. It was just as he was stepping through the sliding doors of the tube train at Bethnal Green station that he heard a cry which made his heart drop several feet.

  
"Harry! Harry! Alright there, Harry!"

Since he was in muggle London Harry had again thought it best to remove his cloak and had it tucked under his arm as he had ridden the tube. Now, the last person in the world he had expected to see was calling to him. Colin Creevey was bouncing up and down trying to crane over the heads of astonished muggles who were looking from one of them to the other with glances that ranged from merely curious to frankly disapproving.

Harry tried to doge away from Colin, but the wave of people leaving the train pushed him inexorably towards the up escalators and the place where Colin was waiting. Then the thing which Harry had been dreading since he heard the voice happened. Colin reached up, a camera held in his outstretched hands, aiming straight at Harry.

"No Colin!" Harry shouted, reaching to unfurl his cloak. But it was too late; with a pop and a burst of light Colin had aimed the camera and taken a picture of Harry. Then, as Harry reached him, he grabbed Harry's wrist and pulled him up the escalator and onto the street. Around Bethnal Green the streets were much less busy, and Harry thought he might be able to get away with only a bit of magical assistance. However, to Harry's dismay Colin started shouting again, and this drove all thoughts of escape from Harry's mind.

"Rita! Rita! Look who I've found!"

Up until now Harry had been struggling against Colin, but at this he put down his arms and gave up fighting. He wished that he could be anywhere else, but found himself powerless to move. Coming down the street, Harry could see, was a bobbing head of precisely placed auburn curls. He knew it could only be one person – Rita Skeeter, trash journalist extraordinaire.

"Colin!" Harry moaned, as he found himself shaking Rita's ring festooned hand.

"Harry, darling! It's wonderful to see you! You look…" here Rita paused as she looked him up and down, taking in his torn cloak, muddied trainers and his pale stretched face, "…amazing! Come on, I'll buy you something to eat"

"But…" said Harry

"Wonderful", Rita interjected, "There is a simply fabulous Italian just round this corner. You'll love it"

And with that both Colin and Rita took him by the arm and led him round the corner and into 'Lavazza'.

***

Harry found himself sitting on a bench at a table in a corner of a small restaurant. The place was decorated in red, white and green and the smells emanating from the nearby kitchen were driving Harry mad. He was sandwiched between Colin and Rita, who was perusing a menu through her rimmed glasses. They sat in silence for a few minutes until a young waiter came over, notebook in hand.

"Ah, there you are", said Rita peering at him from behind the menu,"Harry will have the fiorelli pasta, I will have lasagne and Colin will have some garlic bread. Oh, and a bottle of white wine"

The waiter stalked off, seemingly non-plussed at Rita's attitude.

"Now dear, I am just going to freshen myself up in the bathroom. Colin, make sure he doesn't go anywhere!"

Colin nodded, his eyes seemingly glazed over with rapture, but his grip tightened on Harry's shoulder.

How could he go anywhere? If he did he could just imagine the headlines…_Potter loses it….loose in __London__…You-know-who's vanquisher adrift in the city._ He was going to have to stay and make the most of what was already looking to be an unmitigated disaster. _If only long apparition trips didn't make me feel sick_, he thought furiously to himself.

"Come off it Colin", Harry turned to shrug the hand off his shoulder, "You've got me, I'm not going to do a runner".

"Ok Harry!" Colin replied breezily, his hand remaining as tight as ever on Harry's shoulder.

"Ok, so how come you are working for that old roach? Don't you still have a year left at Hogwarts?"

Colin looked affronted, but seemed to skip over it when he answered, "Oh, well I saw an advertisement in the Daily Prophet looking for an apprentice photographer to do some work over the summer. I applied, and well, here I am. My dad was so pleased; he has even taken out a subscription just so he can see my pictures!"

"Well, congratulations Colin"

Harry cursed silently under his breath. It was worse than he imagined, that photo of him would be on the front page of tomorrow's edition, landing on the breakfast tables of the majority of wizarding Britain.

"So Rita's back in their good books is she?"

"Oh yeah, she did some huge expose on Fudge for the Evening Orb, got her loads of publicity. The Daily Prophet almost begged her to come back after that!"

"Expose?"

"Yeah", said Colin, squirming in his seat with excitement, "all about how he was trying to inveigle his way back into a top ministry position. Madam Bones was furious, she fired half her office staff - it was huge"

"Oh right", said Harry, stunned that the ministry was still in upheaval

"So, where've you been Harry?"

"Look Colin, I don't want to talk about it"

"What don't you want to talk about, my dear?" the voice of Rita Skeeter floated across to them, as she made her way across the room, doing up the buckle on her pink handbag.

"Nothing", Harry scowled furiously at Colin.

"Oh but come, come, you must have something to tell", she said, undoing her other bag and drawing out an acid green quill and a fresh piece of parchment "I mean, you don't get to be in that sort of state by sitting behind a desk at the ministry"

"What?" said Harry, completely baffled.

"Arthur Weasley informed me that you were working in the office of the Wizengamot Administration Service. Strange then that I could never make an appointment to see you. "

Harry wasn't sure what to say - why had Mr Weasley being covering for him? He hadn't ever asked him too. 

Whilst Harry was thinking this, Rita had sucked the end of quill and had placed it on the parchment where it had started scribbling away. Harry was sure this was her Qwik-Quotes Quill, and remembering the nasty experience he had had with it last time, made to bat it away. Colin's other hand shot out and deflected Harry's hand.

"Colin!" Harry hissed

And before Harry had a chance to make another lunge the waiter had arrived with the food. He sat scowling at the food for a few minutes, but it wasn't long before the rumbling in his stomach became unbearable.

"Go on my dear, you look famished", said Rita, dabbing at the corner of her mouth with a napkin.

But Harry, despite what misgivings his stomach may be having, was determined not to accept anything from Rita Skeeter.

"Ok, my dear", said Rita, not noticing that Harry still wasn't eating, "so why don't you start by telling me what you have been doing over the summer?"

"I don't think it's any of your business", replied Harry, watching the quill with suspicion as it started to race across the page.

_The wizarding world has been in uproar now for almost two months over the untimely disappearance of its saviour, Harry Potter. Said by Ministry officials to have taken a desk job with the Wizengamot Administration Service, it can now be revealed that Harry Potter has turned up in east London looking like he has lost a series of fights with a Manticore…_

With each new pass of the quill Harry was getting increasingly more irate. Why did everyone have to start prying into his personal affairs?

"Look, I took a holiday, I needed to get away from all the…" but here he broke off, realising he couldn't say he wanted to get away from all the celebrations.

_In an exclusive interview granted to your special correspondent, Rita Skeeter, Potter claimed that he had taken a holiday. With the recent defeat of You-know-who could it be that Potter is now looking for something to replace him, and is even now on quest to find something deeper and darker to test his extraordinary wizarding powers? _

"I'm not looking for anything. I never was. Things always found me!"

"But Harry, why didn't you stay? You could have had all that attention."

"I didn't want any attention!"

Rita now seemed to change track, she moved closer to Harry on the seat, and rested a hand on his bare arm

"My dear, is it the pressure, the guilt you feel about the people who died?"

"No, I…."

_Harry Potter, now 19, seemed without remorse as he declared feeling no guilt towards those that died during his struggle with You-know-who._

"You haven't been driven away by the thought of those people your actions affected?"

"Of course I…"

"You never visited a single parent?" 

"How could I….of course I feel terrible, but what could I do?"

Harry was desperate now, fighting to stave off tears that had threatened to come every time he had thought of those that died on that terrible day.

Rita had evidently interpreted his face, contorted with rage, as one that held no compassion.

Desperately trying to find a way to make something good of this Harry found his gaze drawn to the window of the restaurant. Pressed up against it, disbelief on his face, was Harry's best friend Ron Weasley. Rita had evidently seem him too since she suddenly had become rather flustered. 

"Mr Potter, I don't think I can carry on this interview", she said, putting away the quill and rolling up the parchment before placing that in her bag. "Cheque please!"

"See you later Harry", Colin called with a cheery wave as they quickly left the restaurant, Rita trying to avoid catching Ron's eye.

Harry sat watching Ron make his way towards him, as he sat quaking with suppressed rage.

_How had that gone so wrong?_

"Err, alright…mate?"

Ron had stopped a couple of steps away from Harry and was watching him with an uncomfortable look on his face.

Harry felt equally uncomfortable. The last time he had seen Ron was the day before he had left for Albania, Ron was in a trance brought on by the Healer's and lying in a bed in St Mungo's.

"Hi, Ron, how are you?" Harry asked, trying to force a smile onto his face.

"Oh, I'm ok," though his fingers seemed to be twitching nervously, "how about you? What were you doing with that Skeeter bitch?"

"She and Colin cornered me on the underground"  
  


"That was Colin Creevey?" said Ron, looking amazed.

"Yeah, he is working for the Daily Prophet as a photographer over the summer"

"Oh right"

"Look, thanks for showing up, you seemed to give her quite a fright"

"Yeah, she tried to interview me shortly after I had been taken into hospital, before they put me into that trance. I didn't do anything, but my mum was there and well…"

Despite how he was feeling inside, Harry couldn't help laughing at the thought of protective Mrs Weasley catching Rita trying to get an interview with her grievously injured son. 

"What are you doing wandering the streets at this time of night?"

"You know, I really couldn't tell you. I guess it is being cooped up with Hermione all day. I think she is starting to regret offering her place for me to stay in. I just needed to get out, you know, get some fresh air."

"Hermione sent me a letter giving her new address – that is where I was heading"

"Yeah, I guessed as much". Ron had relaxed somewhat, "She doesn't seem to always approve of me bringing people back to _her_ house. But if she invited you, that's ok. Let's go." 

Harry felt slightly more relaxed now he had spoken with Ron. It had helped that Ron hadn't burst out wanting to know where Harry had been or what he had been doing. As long as he could go over it slowly and discuss it thoroughly he might be able to come to terms with all that had happened to him over the last few weeks.

The two friends left the restaurant and stepped out into the cool night air. The suffused glow of street lamps was the only source of light as they left the busy commercial area of Bethnal Green and walked through the tangle of streets towards Hermione's house. 

"Why are you staying at Hermione's?" Harry asked as turned down yet another quiet suburban road.

Ron gave Harry a sly glance but quickly returned to picking his way between parked cars and dustbins that jostled for space on the pavement.

"It is much more convenient for St Mungo's than The Burrow."

"You have to go back?"  
  


"Yeah, since it is an unknown curse Vol…I mean You-know-who used on me, they are really interested in it. They keep trying different things to see the effect, making lots of notes. I have to go there once a week, sometimes twice. Without apparition to help me I have to take the tube. It would be a nightmare getting into London twice a week from Devon"

"Yeah" said Harry, absently.

Hearing Ron had put Harry back into his brooding thoughts about Voldemort and how he had affected the lives of his friends. They didn't talk, and nor did they meet anyone, as they made their way up yet another terraced street, lined with houses with neat little box gardens in front. The next street they turned into was even quieter, Harry noticed the sign saying Eavesham Terrace and it wasn't long before Ron indicated a gate, through which they walked. 

Hermione's house was just like every other house along the terrace. It had four square windows facing the road, all were filled with curtains, but through the edges of the bottom left one could be seen the gentle glow of electric lights. There was a short flight of broad steps up to the green front door, which had, Harry noticed with a smile, a familiar lion shaped knocker. Ron didn't show signs of having a key so Harry reached up and gave the Gryffindor emblem a couple of sharp raps.

As they stood waiting on the darkened doorstep they were joined by a bandy-legged creature that had crept out of the bougainvillea which grew hunched under the left-hand window sill. It purred contentedly as it climbed the steps and wrapped its body around Harry's leg

"Hi Crookshanks!" said Harry reaching down to give the Kneazle a stroke behind its large ginger ears.

"Where is…" Ron started, but was interrupted as a light came in on the hall beyond the door. They heard the clinking of a chain and then the key turned sharply in the lock.

"Harry!"

Harry's view of a cosy looking hallway was cut off, almost as quickly as it had been revealed, by the shock of brown hair that had run through the door way. Hermione had thrown her arms around Harry and by the silent shudders he felt against his body she was sobbing gently.

"Hi Hermione", said Harry, gently patting Hermione on the back. For a minute they stood there in an awkward embrace, but then Harry started to catch a muttering behind him.

"Look, are you going to let us in?" Ron's voice sounded cross and impatient.

"Oh, Ron!" Hermione had let go of Harry and stood back, seemingly about to berate Ron for his rudeness. Then she caught sight of Harry's tattered clothes and pale face and bit her lip.

"Ok, come in"

And so the three friends stepped into the inviting house, followed by a ginger cat. The door was shut and the silence, which had enveloped the street before their arrival, returned.  


	5. Not Quite Friends but Not Quite Stranger...

**Chapter 5: Not Quite Friends but Not Quite Strangers**

Harry found himself following Hermione and Ron into a cosy kitchen. It looked like it had been very recently done up. All around there were shiny marble effect work surfaces and rich beech cabinets and drawers. Small spot lights were set into the cupboards around the kitchen and it was these that were switched on, sending soft beams of light around the room. The place was spotlessly clean, and only the plates and cutlery drying by the sink gave away the fact that this kitchen was in every day use.

Harry looked round and shivered slightly. It almost reminded him of the Dursleys kitchen back in Little Whinging. Then he remembered that that kitchen had had a great deal more stainless steel and aluminium effect. It had never held any comfort for Harry.

"This is a really nice place you've got Hermione", said Harry, wondering how much of it was paid for by her parents.

"Yes, it is, isn't it?" she looked around beaming. "Have a seat", she said indicating the circular table that stood in the corner nearest the curtained window, four seats arranged around it.

"So", said Harry, taking a seat, "How did you come about getting it?"

"Well it was a place that used to cause the ministry no end of trouble. I think Mr Weasley visited it on several occasions to sort out a vomiting toilet. Well that owner eventually left, and the ministry took the opportunity to buy it. It means that muggles can't move in again and cause trouble. I saw it advertised in the Daily Prophet and snapped it up. It is so convenient for ECAML."

"Err, the ECAML?" questioned Harry, suddenly reminded of a flashing badge with the word 'spew' written across it.

"Yes, the European Centre for Advanced Magical Learning, I am studying advanced Transfiguration."

"And whereabouts is that located?"

"Well, it is in a disused paint factory south of the river, but the only way to get to it is to catch a tube train from a station just south of here. The station is closed to muggles at certain times of the day – that is when the students arrive or leave."

"So, you are going to follow McGonagall then?"

"Professor McGonagall", Hermione reminded Harry, her face suddenly stern, "well, I'm not entirely sure yet. She certainly is keen for me to get to a standard whereby I can teach it at Hogwarts – she helped fill in the application forms for ECAML, discussed it with my parents, and helped me get the bursary that pays for this place."

"So," Harry started calmly, "you did well in your NEWTS?" sure of the answer he would get.

"Yes, I got Outstanding in all of them", Hermione said briskly, only a twinkling in her eyes giving away how delighted she was about this.

"That's great Hermione, congratulations, you definitely deserved it."

Ron was nodding in agreement, whilst Hermione turned an interesting shade of vermilion.

"How about you mate?" said Harry, turning to Ron.

"Oh, not as bad as I was expecting", replied Ron, nervously glancing at Hermione, "An Outstanding in Defence against the Dark Arts, an Exceeds Expectation in Transfiguration, and an Acceptable in Care of Magical Creatures. Not that it exactly matters, does it? Should have been an 'Outstanding, unless faced with You-know-who' really", he finished, gloomily. 

Harry lost eye contact with Ron as he was saying this. 

"Sorry, I forgot", Harry said, almost whispering.

"It's ok. I forget all the time – keep picking my wand up and trying to do things. When nothing happens it kind of makes me remember."

"Anyway", said Hermione, keen to steer the conversation away from Ron's problem, "How did you do Harry? Aren't you going to tell us?"

"Yeah", said Ron, looking up, "You went away before the results were released. Did you get yours?"

"Oh yeah", Harry remembered the moment bitterly, "this owl caught up with me as I was catching a lift with a truck driver. Scared him half to death I think, not that I understand swearing in Albanian, but I caught his drift. So he stopped the truck and shoved me out, leaving me in the middle of this forest, miles from anywhere." 

"But did the owl bring good news?" Hermione pressed on, giving Ron, who was grinning, a determined look.

"Well, I got an Outstanding for Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"Naturally", said Hermione, a smile flickering across her face.

"But, I failed the rest", Harry said, resignedly, "P's in Transfiguration, Charms and a D in Potions."

"Oh Harry, I'm so sorry. Are you going to re-sit them?" Hermione said, at the same time as Ron asked:

"Do you want a cup of tea?"

"Oh, good idea Ron" said Hermione, looking worriedly at Harry, "and how about some toast or something?"

"Yeah, tea and toast would be great, thanks", said Harry, remembering how hungry he had felt sitting in the restaurant with Rita and Colin. Harry had pushed his appalling NEWT results to the back of his mind, but now the feeling of disappointment was firmly back, accompanied by hollow laughter that had troubled his imaginings before.

Whilst he was thinking this, Hermione had stood up and started bustling around the kitchen. Her wand out, she soon had a kettle boiling merrily away on the stove and several slices of thick brown bread under the grill. Without looking over her shoulders she was sending plates and knives and jars of jam and marmalade flying out of cupboards and onto the table where Ron and Harry sat watching.

"So, are you going to appeal, Harry?" Hermione said, her face half in a cupboard that Harry could see was filled with various bottles and jars.

"When I go to the ministry I am going to go and see the Wizarding Exam Authority - explain about all the stuff that was going on. Dumbledore will have told them about the attack on Neville. I reckon they will understand."

"Of course they will Harry – Professor Dumbledore will back you all the way. It's not right that you had to sit those exams with _that_ hanging over your head." said Hermione, giving him a reassuring smile as she set down a plate of toast in the centre of the table.

"Tuck in!"

There was a dignified silence as Harry, filled up his plate with toast and eagerly spread it with butter and marmalade. The other two were doing the same, and soon Hermione had brought a steaming teapot to the table as well. 

As he ate Harry started to remember the events at Hogwarts that had had such a pronounced effect on his exams. All through the sixth year and most of the seventh year he had worked, with Hermione's help, incredibly hard at his studies. He was determined to get on a worthwhile career path and had consistently been graded E by all his teachers. It was two weeks before the exams that things started to go wrong. 

_…He was lying in bed in the round dormitory at the top of the Gryffindor tower. He was listening intently for a clue as to what the strange noise could be that had woken him._

_"Harry", Ron's voice hissed through the deep curtains hung around the bed. His voice sounded small and frightened, "Harry", he repeated, slightly louder this time. _

_"What?" Harry whispered back, though he knew what the answer was going to be._

_"Did, did you hear it?"_

_"Yeah". Harry had sat bolt up-right in bed now, determined to investigate. He flung the drapes away and stepped out into the darkened dormitory. "Lumos", he muttered, watching as his shaking wand tip lit up. He peered around, pausing as he waited for Ron, struggling with his drapes, to join him, his wand also lit._

_"What do you reckon it was?" Ron's voice was still low and shaken._

_"I don't know", replied Harry, scanning the room. Seamus' bed was silent, as was Dean's, the drapes still around the beds, but then Harry came to the fifth and final bed._

_"Neville!" Harry had found his voice, and almost shouted in his anxiety to cross the room, but it was too late. The drapes around the bed had been torn down; there were signs of a struggle, strewn sheets, and here and there red flecks. Neville Longbottom was gone._

_"Quick", Harry had regained control of his voice, and with a meaningful look to the other two beds whispered to Ron, "come on, let's go"._

_The two of them raced from the dormitory, down the staircase, through the common room and crawled out of the portrait hole._

_As soon as they stepped into the corridor they knew something terribly wrong had happened. On the floor in front of them, face down, was the portrait of the Fat Lady that usually guarded the entrance to the Gryffindor tower. It had been torn from the wall by, what Harry could only imagine as, a hugely powerful spell._

_Urging Ron to help they lifted the portrait up and propped it against the wall. The Fat Lady was slumped in the bottom corner, a livid purple bruise prominent on her right cheek. It was already turning a repulsive green and it was obvious that she was out cold and could not give them any clue as to the perpetrator of this crime._

_ They hurried away from the damaged portrait and into the deserted corridors, making their way as quickly as possible down to the entrance hall._

_It wasn't long before Harry started to notice more strange things; a hidden passageway blocked, staircases changed, suits of armour and statues lying across their path. It took them nearly half an hour to get down to the entrance hall by which time they were sore and exhausted._

_They ran out onto the first floor landing and were suddenly brought up short. Two figures were in the entrance hall below them. They stood silhouetted against the moonlight shining in through the great open doors of the castle. They were both hooded but instinct told Harry who they were._

_The figure on the right was smaller, her hood barely concealing long hair that hung down her back. _

_"Bellatrix Black!" Harry whispered to Ron._

_But it was the second, much taller figure on the right that really scared Harry._

_"How can you be here?" Harry's voice was trembling again as he spoke. He didn't dare take his gaze away from that figure, but could sense that Ron was cowering beside him on the floor._

_"Dear Albus is losing his touch I fear", a cool voice slithered its way across the hall to them. It was a voice that contained only hatred and malice. It was a voice of pure evil - the voice of Lord Voldemort._

_"No!" Harry's voice carried no defiance, "Dumbledore is still headmaster"._

_"Soon the prophecy will be fulfilled", Lord Voldemort swept over Harry's stuttering talk, "my faithful servant here has helped me deal with the, err, anomaly". Here the woman started to rock with suppressed laughter. "Now the way is clear for you and I."_

_Harry could only stare back in silent horror._

_"I will return, Harry Potter, at the time chosen, when our fates shall collide and only one shall remain. Watch for my coming when the sun seems to wane and die!"_

_Two weeks time – a partial solar eclipse was scheduled for two weeks time – the day of their final NEWT._

_The hooded figures had turned and glided from the Entrance Hall. Harry was left staring down at the slit of moonlight, it was empty. Behind him, pandemonium set in. Teachers arrived, prefects and the head boy and girl came careering down the stairs, evidently held back until now by some unseen force._

_Neville was discovered cowering under a statue of a startled looking witch. Harry breathed a sigh of relief when he saw him alive, but moving closer he noticed that Neville was twitching violently, and did not speak a word. Dumbledore moved in and had Neville taken from the school and immediately sent to St Mungo's._

_"Just like Frank and Alice…" Harry heard Dumbledore say as they watched Neville depart. Harry looked at Dumbledore closely, the familiar sparkle in his eyes had gone, his once jovial face was contorted with stress and anger…_

Harry pulled himself out of his horrific memories only to be confronted by a half eaten slice of cold toast he had half crushed in his hand. Hermione had pushed her plate away and had turned to face him, her eyes carefully scrutinising his face.

"Here, have another slice of toast, unless you aren't hungry of course."

"Thanks Hermione", said Harry talking a freshly slice from the stack in the centre. He took a large bite. The familiar taste seemed to sooth his mind somewhat, though this didn't seem to prevent Hermione from continuing her thorough scan of his face.

"You look terrible, Harry."

"I'b fine, fanks", said Harry through a mouthful of toast.

"Don't talk with your mouth full! You are as bad as Ron."

Harry looked at Ron who seemed to be about to say something in objection, then he realised that he was halfway through a mouthful of toast and thought better of it. He satisfied himself by chewing away on his food whilst scowling at Hermione. Harry let himself finish his mouthful before talking again.

"I'm fine. Honest. Nothing a long hot bath and bed can't cure."

"Are you going to tell us what you've been up to? You just mentioned Albania."

"Yeah, I took a little trip to Albania", said Harry, then glancing down at his tattered clothes, "A camping trip - I've just been sleeping rough for a while." But Hermione didn't appear to be appeased by this, "Can't it wait until tomorrow night? I promise I will tell you everything tomorrow."

Hermione continued to stare into his eyes, but eventually with a slight sigh she muttered, "Ok".

"So, what are you doing with yourself at the moment Ron?"

Ron had also finished his toast. He pushed the plate away and took a sip from his mug of tea before replying. 

"Well, I have to stay at St Mungo's for the whole day when I go there, so it is a bit difficult to get a full time job at the moment. I have got a job in the records department at the Ministry – I think my dad put in a word for me, because without magic I work about ten times as slow as the other people there."

"So, what about in the future?"

"Well, I am hoping to get a job in Muggle relations. I guess I haven't really got the right NEWTs but having lived a totally wizarding life up until now…I should be able to do something. I'll be like Martin Miggs! If not I suppose I will have to get in touch with the Muggle Liaison office and see if I can get a muggle job."

"Do they have to do a lot of that?"

"Well, yeah, with squibs and people. There are a lot of people born into the magical world who can't do enough magic to make a living. I am just one of them now."

"What about Filch?"  
  
"I don't want to be the school caretaker Harry!"

"Sorry - just a thought. So what is it like…?"

"You mean without magic?"

"Yeah" said Harry uncertainly. He kept hazarding glances at Hermione whose eyes were fixed on Ron, a frown etched across here forehead.

"I don't know, I guess it…I mean I - I just feel empty. It's like I'm missing something inside."

"Right", Harry mumbled, his insides seemed to have just disappeared.

"St Mungo's don't think it will be fatal", said Ron, a little too matter-of-factly.

"Of course it's not fatal", snapped Hermione.

"They reckon they should be able to find a counter-curse – I'm not like a squib, I do have the ability to channel magic – so they think they just need to do something and I will be right as rain, again."  
  
"Well that sounds encouraging", Harry replied, his insides slowly returning, and then half to himself, "I should have got answers out of Voldemort before I killed him"

"What was that Harry?" Hermione had turned from Ron, and her eyes were now fixed on Harry.

"Oh, nothing. I said tomorrow - ok?"

But despite saying that, Harry felt that something important had just flashed across his vision. Suddenly taken by an urge he glanced around, but his eyes only came to rest on his cloak which he had thrown absently onto the work top behind him.

"Ok Harry", Hermione replied, following his gaze with a curious look.

"Anyway", Ron pushed his chair back and stood up. Both Harry and Hermione's attention was drawn back to the table and Ron who said, "If you don't mind, I have to be out of here by seven and so I am going to get some kip."

"Ok, Ron, goodnight", said Hermione, starting to send the dirty plates and things towards the sink where hot water was filling it up rapidly.

"It is really great to have you back Harry", said Ron, pausing to rest a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"It's good to be back, Ron. See you tomorrow."

Hermione watched Ron leave the room before she turned back to the dishes. She seemed to have everything under control so Harry remained seated at the table, watching as their dirty plates quickly transferred themselves to the draining board, glistening with purple soapy bubbles.

"Ok Harry, do you want to go and sit in the living room?"

"Yeah, sure."

***

Harry walked back out of the kitchen and took the door to his left which led into the living room. He paused in astonishment at the sight that greeted him. Hermione had done the lounge up to resemble the Gryffindor common room. There was an imposing stone fireplace and around it were drawn two very dilapidated, but comfy looking maroon leather armchairs. On the far side of the fire sat an equally dilapidated sofa. In between the chairs and the sofa there was a coffee table, upon which Harry could see various issues of Witch Weekly, the Quibbler and pull out sections from the Sunday Prophet. On a shelf below this were a collection of neatly stacked books. In fact, Harry noticed, the room was filled with books. There was a bookcase behind the door, and another to the left of the fire, both crammed with books. The wallpaper was red with small golden wings and the red carpet finished off the Gryffindor theme.

"Hermione, I love this house."

"Thanks Harry", said Hermione following him into the room and taking a seat at the far end of the sofa. She drew her feet up under her and leant back. "I went back up to Hogwarts about three weeks after we had finished to borrow some books from Professor McGonagall – I met Mr Filch throwing some chairs from our common room out", She gestured to the chair Harry had just taken a seat in, "He said something about replacing them every few years. Well I asked if I could take them off his hands, and he agreed. I got them sent down and installed the next day."

"That's great – they are so comfy."

"Yes, they are", Hermione replied, resting her head on a cushion she had put behind it.

"You look tired Hermione; it's no problem if you just want to go to bed."

"Oh, don't worry; I don't have any lectures tomorrow."

Harry suddenly realised he didn't have any idea what day it was. He had a vague memory of seeing a date at the Post Office but couldn't remember what it could have been.

"What day is it Hermione?"

Hermione looked slightly put out for a second, "It is Wednesday, the 12th of August to be exact. No lectures on a Thursday and only a practical session on Friday morning. I love the second half of the week!"

"Bit better than your third year at Hogwarts?"

"Oh definitely, I never ever want to do anything like that again."

"I can imagine", but before Hermione could say anything further Harry had continued, anxious to get something off his chest, "Look Hermione, thanks for sending me that letter. I was honestly wondering whether anyone would want to talk to me at all after I just left like that."

"Of course we would Harry."

"How did you know I would go to the Post Office in Diagon Alley?"

Hermione shrugged, "I guessed that you would want to get in touch with Ron's dad. I thought you would probably try and arrange an inconspicuous meeting rather than march right on into the Ministry."

Harry laughed, "You know me too well."

"Yes I do."

"Oh, and speaking of people who know me too well. I met Rita Skeeter on my way here."

"She wrote an excellent article concerning Fudge's latest attempts to get back into the Ministry", said Hermione, whose voice to Harry's surprise, contained a hint of respect.

"Well, I don't think the article that will appear in tomorrows Prophet will be quite as truthful."

"She can't write anything derogatory about you Harry – I still have her secret to reveal, remember?"

"Well, I am not sure that is enough to stop her now. I guess she is on a roll after the Fudge story."

"At least you are out of the spotlight here; you won't have Malfoy quoting it behind your back every time you walk anywhere."

"That's true – I am just fed to the back teeth with the whole thing. Sometimes I wish Voldemort had come out on top."

"Harry", Hermione seemed stunned, "that is a dreadful thing to say."  
  


"I know – that is how much I hate people poking and prying into my life."

"You are just going to have to accept it. It is a clichéd thing to say, but you _did_ save the world. I wouldn't be surprised if we saw people across the world writing books and making films about your life."

"But", said Harry, exasperated by the conversation, "There are bigger things out there."

"What do you mean?"

"Come outside", said Harry, glancing at the French Windows at the back of the room, "I'll show you".

"Ok", said Hermione, uncurling herself from her comfy position and heading over to the doors, which she unlocked and stepped through.

Harry followed Hermione out through the French Windows and out onto the little patio behind the house. It was very dark considering they were still well within the city of London. For some reason the vague orange glow of the city was subdued tonight.

They walked down the garden, stepping on grass that crackled under their feet. It had been a long hot summer even here in England. At the end of the garden stood a dilapidated shed, with withered pot plants barely visible through a dusty window. Harry and Hermione stopped at the end, leaning on the fence and looking up at the immeasurable expanse above them. 

Harry swept his arm across the sky, "There, that is what I mean - What does Harry Potter mean to the rest of this infinite universe?"

Hermione stared up at the stars. "I don't think that is quite the point Harry."

"It is – if a meteorite was suddenly deflected onto a collision course with the earth it would be irrelevant whether I defeated Voldemort or not."

"But that is something we can't control. Harry – you chose to defeat Voldemort, you chose to 'save the world' – that is what sets apart your achievement. You could have turned aside at any moment, but you kept true to your course and you won."

"I suppose you're right – as ever!"

"Of course I'm right!" Hermione replied playfully, "So what has brought about all this stargazing mumbo-jumbo?"

Harry laughed, "I forgot you don't have the 'Inner Eye'!"

"Hey, don't bring that up again!" said Hermione, also laughing.

"If you must know, I did quite a bit of star-gazing during my, err, holiday. I never thought about it before, but looking up, you can see the Black family tree"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean it was a tradition in the Black family to name the children after celestial objects. I didn't pick it up during OWL astronomy that year, and then of course I dropped it at NEWT. I met an English astronomer who had gone to Albania to view that solar eclipse. We didn't talk for very long, but he did start naming a few objects he could see."

"Draco, Regulus, Bellatrix, Andromeda; they are all there. Although some of them you can only see in the southern sky."

"What about…?" Hermione started timidly.

But Harry could read Hermione.

"Yeah, Sirius is up there as well – you can't see him yet; it doesn't rise until the sun is up. Later in the year though. Strange star Sirius, it almost looks like it is winking at you when you see it"

"Harry…" and as he looked over to her he could see tiny pricks of light dancing on the tears swelling in her eyes, "…that's beautiful", she finished, her voice almost a whisper.

Hermione managed to tear her eyes away from the sky to look at Harry.

"I don't understand how you are acting so calm."

"What do you mean?" Harry kept his gaze firmly on Hermione.

"Well, I thought you would be so much angrier than this. After what happened, after what you have endured. That final year, well for you it must have been terrible."

"Hermione….", but here Harry hesitated unsure of what, or how much he should tell Hermione. 

"You can tell me anything. You know that Harry?"

"Yes", Harry sighed, "The reason I survived was because I knew that everyone else was suffering."

Hermione was about to object but he waved her away.

"No, I don't mean everyone had to put up with what the things that I did. But Voldemort made everyone's life miserable. He affected us all, and when I was fighting Voldemort I didn't stand alone, you were all standing with me. That was our victory Hermione, it was Ron's, it was Dumbledore's, it was everyone's victory."

"And it took a trip to Albania for you to realise this?"

"Well, you know me."

"And, what about afterwards?"

"Afterwards?"

"Yes, how can you be so calm with Ron the way he is?"

"I guess I'm just thankful that nothing worse happened to you. Of all the things going on, the thing I most feared was losing one of you two."

"But you could have kept us better informed Harry!"

"I know", Harry sighed, "I understand now what Dumbledore was talking about that morning in his study after the battle at the Ministry of Magic."

"What did he say?"

"He said something about protecting me by only telling me stuff that was essential. He said he cared more for my happiness than for me knowing the truth."

"How does this apply to me Harry?"

"Don't you see", said Harry, "I acted exactly like Dumbledore did – I cared more for the happiness of you – and Ron – than I did for letting you know the truth. I thought I was protecting you from Voldemort, but I realise now I was playing into his hands."

"But Harry…."

"If I had told you", Harry was determined to finish, "about Voldemort, about his plans, his motives, you would never have chosen to help me in the Great Hall"

"Harry, we would have come no matter what."

"No you wouldn't, it was supposed to be between me and him. Somehow he figured out that if other people were there, it would be to his advantage, not mine. Dumbledore knew this and he told me, but I decided to keep you and Ron in the dark because I thought you wouldn't figure out in time, you would be too late and it would just be him and me, like it was supposed to be."

Harry turned away from her. He couldn't face her anymore, despite the fact that it was dark. His thoughts drifted to the shadowy places in Albania and a desire took him – he wanted to be in that cavern, lying on top of that dais, lying in the dark, in the silence, and alone. He would be next…

"Harry…."

A warm hand gripped his arm and pulled him round. For the second time that night he felt Hermione's body pushed against him, rocking gently with tears that didn't come to him, but poured from her.

In his mind Harry saw the cavern suddenly blaze with an iridescent light. The dais had cracked and fallen and a huge tear rent a hole in the roof of the cave. Jagged pointers of rock and stone fell all around and then there was sunlight, birds singing and a single, silent pile of rock and stones. One half of the jet black dais could be seen pointing upwards out of the pile like a withered finger rising out of a clenched and blackened fist.

Harry shuddered.

"Come on", Hermione sobbed, "let's go back inside."

His arm still around her shoulders, Harry led Hermione back up the parched lawn and in through the windows.

***

Some time later Harry found himself lying in a cold, unfamiliar bed, staring at the dappled beams of reflected moonlight that danced and played on the ceiling of the spare room he was sleeping in.

He had seen Hermione, still sobbing gently, to her room then returned downstairs to lock the doors and turn off lights. He felt entirely responsible for causing Hermione to break down like that, and it was this playing on his mind that was preventing him from sleeping. This was despite the exhaustion of his long evening that caused his body to feel weighted down, like it was carrying lead ballast.

As he lay there, the oppressive silence of suburbia drew in around him. In Albania, sleeping outdoors mostly, he had been always accompanied by birds in the trees, the wind playing through meadows of long grass. He had grown used to these nightly noises, and now deprived of them by double glazing and the ceaseless march of urbanisation he was forced to reflect on the tiny inner voices that had badgered him over the last few months.

He was glad he had started to get some of his feelings out in the open, but something about Hermione's reaction told him he hadn't approached it in quite the most appropriate way.

Tomorrow he would explain what he had been doing since they parted at Kings Cross at the end of June. He would try to put into words how he was feeling during his long search of Albania, and how, now it was over, he would try and bring some order to his life.

With these thoughts lapping against the shore of his mind, Harry Potter finally succumbed to the deep pull of sleep. As the silver moonshine rippled across the room, the quiet that had enveloped the street outside finally pervaded this little corner of the world, and the boy slept peacefully and undisturbed.


	6. Breakfast and Butterbeer

**Chapter 6: Breakfast and Butterbeer**

For the second time in just over twelve hours Harry was woken by the sun shining on his face. This time though it was the mid-morning sun of a fine summer day in England, not the late afternoon glare he had last seen in Albania. It took a moment for Harry to dredge this fact out of the thoughts drifting aimlessly around his head. He raised his watch above his head and strained his eyes to look at it. It looked a lot like 1:30pm. Putting his arm back down he returned to his memories - he saw the valley, the cavern…

"One-thirty pm!" Harry suddenly shot up. Scrambling out of the bed he caught the bedside table with his foot. Hopping around on one foot, cursing loudly he found himself tripping over something, and with a resounding crash he toppled over into a pile of cardboard boxes. The sound, Harry thought with a sickening feeling, was very like that which a set of Aunt Petunia's best dinner plates had made when he had dropped them many years before.

After a few seconds of stunned silence Harry cautiously picked himself up. He carefully, went over to the bedside table and managed to find his glasses. He put them on and the room swiftly jumped into focus. Looking round he saw a room filled with cardboard boxes. A gap had been made so that he could access the bed, but beside this the whole space was occupied by them. Harry had little idea what could be in most of them, and none of them seemed to have labels. There were two close by that had a distinctly crumpled look. From one of them Harry could see a piece of porcelain poking through a freshly made rip. 

Through a gap in the curtains shone the shaft of sunlight that had alighted on Harry's face and awoken him. In it he could see motes of dust swirling, seemingly delighted at all this activity in their abandoned haven.

Harry retrieved his cloak from on top of another box and found the spare clothes he had brought along. He dressed quickly, throwing on a pair of jeans and a clean t-shirt before making his way out of the room.

Stepping lightly into the kitchen he found Hermione. She was eating cereal, the Daily Prophet propped open in front of her. _Maybe she woke up late too_. Harry thought, confused by Hermione going about her usual morning ritual at almost two in the afternoon.

"Afternoon!" he said cheerfully, happy that he seemed to have got away with his lie in.

"You really are confused aren't you Harry?"

  
"What?"

"It is coming up to eleven in the morning. I think you must still be on Albanian time"

"Oh", Harry looked at his watch again, then at the sun outside, then at a clock on the wall that read ten to eleven, "Right".

"Sit down – would you like some cereal? Some coffee?"

"Yeah, in a moment. Look, Hermione, about last night…"

"Don't worry. I guess, just with seeing you again. It brought everything back. I shouldn't have reacted like that. I'm sorry."

Harry was taken aback by Hermione's admission, "No, I am the one who is sorry Hermione. I should have been more tactful."

"Well, that has never been one of your strongest points", said Hermione, a small smile on her face.

"No I suppose not", said Harry sitting down, "Could I have a look at the paper please?"

"Oh", said Hermione, quickly turning a page, "I think you really ought to have breakfast first"

"Why is that?"

"Because the cover story might ruin your appetite", said Hermione, glumly, "I'm going to get Skeeter this time. Unregistered animagus!"

"Let me see", said Harry, reaching over to take the paper from her.

Reluctantly she handed the paper over to him. Taking it, Harry turned back to the front and spread it out in front of him. A large proportion of the page was taken up by a photo of him, looking very startled, in amongst a crowd of even more startled muggles. Harry was frantically trying to hide behind the people, but the poor muggles didn't seem to know what to do. They kept trying to stand perfectly still, seemingly in the pose they had been in when the picture was taken. For the ones who had had a foot raised this was proving too difficult and much of the crowd was falling over, the other half trying to help them up in order to preserve the original photo. Harry stared at this extraordinary scene for a moment before turning his attention to the text.

_THE BOY WHO LIVED…LIVES!_

_It is with great delight that your special correspondent, _Rita Skeeter, _is able to report that she met and interviewed the wizarding world's redeemer last night in central __London__._

_Harry Potter, now 18, who on the 22nd June defeated the dark Lord Voldemort, has been missing since shortly after that great day. Last night, at Bethnal Green tube station, he was spotted disguised as a muggle making his way through the crowd towards an unknown destination._

_Wearing tattered jeans and a ripped t-shirt he had the appearance of someone who has been living rough for quite some time. His usually cheerful countenance was replaced by a sullen and gaunt look about his face._

_He acquiesced to this correspondent's invitation to get a meal in a local restaurant where the brief interview was conducted._

As he was reading Hermione had put a mug of steaming black coffee down in front of him, followed by a bowl of cereal. He drank the coffee as he continued to read the article.

_Speaking in monosyllables, it quickly became apparent to this writer that Harry Potter was seriously distressed. Readers will do well to remember at this point, that this boy's mental stability has been questioned before by this publication._

_When questioned about the tragic deaths of staff and students on the day of his triumph, Harry showed little remorse, and admitted not having been to see any relatives or friends, still stricken with grief at their loss._

_The interview had to be cut short when a disreputable friend of Potter's, one Ronald Weasley also 19, forced his presence on this reporter._

_Now that Harry Potter is seemingly back in London it is this reporter's intention to bring you the truth of his summer activities and to seek justification for his actions since the downfall of You-know-who._

He sighed and pushed the paper away from him. Replacing it with the bowl of cereal, he began to eat.

"So?" said Hermione, tentatively.

"It wasn't as bad as I was expecting, or you." Harry indicated the bowl that was already half empty. "I think Ron probably came off worse than me! You probably won't need to use your information yet, I reckon Mrs Weasley will do the job for you!

Hermione managed a short laugh, but she still seemed very displeased with the article.

"Plus no-one knows that I am here, so I won't get any 'fan-mail'", Harry said, wincing at the word.

"Well I wouldn't say that", Hermione was indicating a small pile of letters near the kettle, "They arrived this morning, all addressed to you. Evidently people are still watching you."

"You have got to be kidding!"

"No, I think there is one from Remus, one from Molly, one from Professor Dumbledore and a couple of things from the Ministry", Hermione said, ticking them off on her hand.

"Well I suppose I better get them over with", Harry had drawn his wand out and almost lazily he said, "Accio letters".

The first letter he picked up looked to be a reply from Arthur Weasley. Unfolding the letter he read:

_Harry,_

_Thank you very much for letting me know. I have informed the Minister and will arrange a time for you to come and meet me to discuss the particulars. I am tied up with a conference today but should be able to see you some time tomorrow. I will send a message giving details as soon as possible_

_Sincerely, yours_

_Arthur Weasley_

_Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement_

_Ministry of Magic_

The second letter had already been delivered to a couple of addresses. Evidently by the scribblings on the front it had been redirected and had eventually found him here. The careful, neat script was that of his good friend Remus Lupin.

_Harry,_

_Arrived safely back in __London__. I am staying at Dumbledore's to recover. Please get in touch when you arrive back. I hope all went well_

_Remus__ Lupin_

The third letter contained a postcard from Albus Dumbledore. It showed a tropical island complete with palm tress and golden sandy shores. A quick note was written on the reverse:

_Harry_

_Greetings from __Bermuda__! I knew you would be able to handle everything. I'm exceedingly pleased I didn't have to interrupt my holiday as the weather here is splendid. I need to talk to you about your exam results. Please send my best wishes to Miss Granger and Mr Weasley._

_Albus__ Dumbledore_

After reading it Harry passed the postcard over to Hermione. 

"Professor Dumbledore certainly seems to be taking it easy since you defeated Voldemort", she said after reading the card.

"Yeah, I think he is taking it a little _too_ seriously."

"I think he deserves a bit of a break Harry. At least it sounds like he is going to help you with your NEWTs."

Dumbledore had been the last person Harry had seen before he left for Albania. The tall, white haired man, the usual twinkle back in his eyes, had told him that he was exceedingly proud of Harry, and felt sure he could confidently take a well-earned holiday in Bermuda whilst Harry tied up any loose ends.

_Loose ends!_

Harry had gone through hell to ensure Voldemort could never rise again, whilst Dumbledore had been lying on a beach, presumably drinking sherbet lemon cocktails under the cool shade of a leafy palm. Then again, Hermione was probably right – he did deserve it.

The letter from Molly Weasley was a short note saying how Arthur had informed her he was back, that she was glad he was alive and well, and that she would invite him to the Burrow very soon.

The final letter was by far the most important looking. The envelope was made from heavy, emerald green parchment, with Harry's address neatly written in gold writing. Turning it over Harry examined the seal on the back.

"That is the Minister's seal", gasped Hermione

Harry carefully opened the letter and took out a single sheet of the same sort of heavy parchment.

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_I have been informed by Arthur Weasley that you have (once again it would seem) rid us of Voldemort. Although I am willing to accept your story, I am disappointed that you did not keep the Ministry informed of yours (and Voldemort's) actions._

_I must insist that you come into the Ministry at your earliest possible convenience. At such a time I wish to see you myself, and to have you talk to the Press Relations department so that this particular part of the downfall of Voldemort is kept out of the papers. The Ministry would like to keep the day of Voldemort's death as the 22nd June._

_Yours sincerely_

_Amelia Bones_

_Minister of Magic_

_Order of Merlin, Second Class_

"So –what does it say?" Hermione said expectantly as Harry charily folded the letter and slid it back into the envelope.

"Oh, just welcoming me back. She wants me to go and see her – to discuss my holiday" Harry replied, grinning at Hermione.

"It seems that everyone wants to know about your holiday"

"Well, they will just have to wait and find out, won't they?" said Harry, emphasising the last part to make sure Hermione knew he wasn't going to start telling her about Albania right now.

"Ok Harry, I won't ask any more, for now"

"Good"

"So, what do you have planned for today?"

"Well, I suppose I ought to reply to Professor Lupin's letter. I also need to start looking for a job"

  
"I would have thought that now people know you are back in London", Hermione nodded towards the newspaper, "You will be inundated with job offers. I'm sure any company will give their wand arm for a chance to recruit you!"

"I'm not so sure. I think my one NEWT may count against me. Especially since it is in Defence Against the Dark Arts. I wonder if defeating Voldemort has put me out of work for life!"

"Talk about shooting yourself in the foot!" Hermione laughed.

"Exactly"

"I'm sure that won't be true. Let's see - what sort of work do you want to do?"

"I really have no idea what I would be good at"

"Well, you could start by writing down a list of all the things you are good at – like flying a broomstick, or counter-curses. Then you can start looking through the job vacancies a little more methodically."

"I still prefer the trusty, close your eyes and point method! I suppose you are right though", it certainly sounded like a lot of work for a sunny afternoon, "what are you going to be doing?"

"I have stuff for ECAML to do"

"Oh right. I don't understand - why are you at this ECAML now? Isn't it still the summer holidays?"

"They have a very strange timetable. I think it is to fit in with other magical institutions around Europe. I do get a lot of time off during the year, but we start much earlier than Hogwarts."

"When did you start?"

"I started in the last week of July and I already have seven essays to work on. I am going to get one of them done this afternoon I hope."

"What sort of things do you do?"

"Well, there is obviously a lot of advanced theory and practical work to do; transfiguring larger objects, living things and so on. But we also do a lot of work on the ethics behind the transfiguration of living creatures. Creating and taking away life is a big subject at the moment, especially with the Ministry working to set up International regulations for transfiguration"

"That sounds interesting", Harry said, fighting hard to sound sincere.

"It is – and it should set me up well either for a career in the Ministry or a teaching position at Hogwarts"

"You'll be Minister of Magic before I have decided what things I am good at", Harry said, his voice now genuine.

"Don't be silly Harry", she said, standing up so as to cut off him from replying, "If you have finished, why don't we go and sit outside? The weather is lovely and I have so much work to do"

***

They spent the afternoon sitting outside in the garden. Hermione had a set of chairs and a table set up on the browned grass and it was on this that she spread out her notes. She had several rolls of parchment out and worked away on several of the essays she had to do.

Harry kept himself occupied by fetching iced pumpkin juice every half an hour, and scanning through back copies of the Daily Prophet looking for some sort of job opportunity. As he had thought, there didn't seem to be much available to someone with only a NEWT in Defence against the Dark Arts. He also wrote a letter to Remus, giving only a sketchy account of his summer, but promising to come and see him as soon as he had got himself sorted out.

***

The sun was slinking towards the western horizon, and the shadows were growing longer by the time they heard a hollering from inside the house, and Ron Weasley stepped out onto the patio. He carried with him three large pizza boxes, and dropping them down on top of Hermione's notes he solemnly announced:

"Dinner is served!"

"Oh Ron", moaned Hermione, rescuing her notes from under the boxes, "Why do I ever let you arrange dinner?"

Harry laughed, but he was cut short by Hermione's withering glance. He hastily helped her to clear the table whilst Ron disappeared back into the house.

Hermione was just about to raise her wand, when Ron returned, carrying plates, cutlery and three bottles of opened Butterbeer. "There's no need to show off", he addressed Hermione as he put the things down on the now cleared table.

"I wasn't showing off", Hermione muttered, lowering her wand,

Ron sat down, gave Harry a mischievous look, and opened the first box.

"Help yourself", he said happily, handing the box round to Harry, then Hermione, "Don't worry Hermione, taking away my magical ability hardly gives you any more of an advantage than before".

"So, how was your day Ron?" Harry cut in before Hermione could reply.

"Oh not bad. Still no closer to discovering what is wrong. They tried something different day. Apparently a counter-curse that is very popular in Japan at the moment. "

"And did it help?" said Hermione, who had again raised her wand, "Accio lettuce!"

"Well, it helped me turn blue! Apart from that no, not really", said Ron as he watched several green lettuce leaves fly on to Hermione's plate, "What do you want lettuce for? Waste of time if you ask me".

"After enduring seven years of that heavy Hogwarts food I am trying to eat sensibly"

"Yeah", said Ron, turning to Harry, "She has vowed never to eat another steak and kidney pudding!"

"She has got a point", Harry said, thinking of the Hogwarts food, "I'm surprised we aren't all the size of Dudley – the amount of casseroles, stews and things we ate there!"

"Perhaps you're right", said Ron, starting on the second pizza.

They finished their meal in silence. For pudding there was a large bowl of Florean Fortescues' Raspberry Ripple which, Harry noticed, Hermione didn't have any objections towards.

It wasn't until the bowl was fully finished, and Harry was leaning back on his chair feeling comfortably full that Hermione turned to him. 

"So, is this a good time for you to tell us about your summer?"

Harry tensed slightly at the thought of having to discuss the details of his adventure but at least he hadn't had to raise the subject. He sat back forward and started to tell them of his journey. 

He told them about the first week after Hogwarts, back with the Dursleys with no real idea of what to do or where to go. Dudley was awaiting his A-level results before going off to University to start some sort of business degree, so the focus was on Harry and what he would be doing now his time at Hogwarts was over.

_"I suppose you'll be wanting to be going to some lunatic university? If anything you lot do merits a degree." Uncle Vernon had said._

Harry didn't even know whether there was a university for wizards. He certainly didn't imagine his NEWTs would be good enough to gain him entrance. He felt entirely cut off from the wizarding world, and although he had felt elated when he first returned, it hadn't lasted long, and by the end of the week he was certain that something was wrong, terribly wrong. 

The strange feeling, a kind of ominous twinge in the pit of his stomach built during the week until Friday night when it became almost unbearable. Then he had had the dream.

"I thought your dreaming days were over?" Hermione interrupted.

"It was strange – I thought they were too, at least _those _sorts of dreams were over. This one, at first seemed like an ordinary dream, until I saw _him_."

_Harry was flying high on his broom, higher than he had ever flown before. The Quidditch stadium far below was reduced to a patch of green. Here he was free. He scudded underneath a bank of clouds, letting the damp mist run through his hair. The roar of the crowd had left him and his desire to find the Snitch gone. He gave his Firebolt a nudge and sent himself spiralling upwards through the soaking mists. High above he found the sun bright and clear. However its rays penetrated his eyes wherever he looked, however tightly he screwed them closed and he had to go back down, to escape. Plummeting back through the clouds his stomach gave a jerk, and when he reached the other side, the Quidditch pitch was gone. The castle was gone, and the stunted Scottish mountains had been replaced by rearing __Alps__. Cradled lakes reflected the steely grey sky. Below him was a village, a stream running through, and a main road, like a black ribbon running away and out of sight to the north. South of the village the mountains came closer and closer together, like hands reaching to protect a special possession. He could just make out another break in the mountains beyond the first ridge; the valley looked to be shaped like a tear._

_He flew lower, drawn down by some mysterious attraction. A ruined church and its cemetery stood just beyond the village. He landed softly on the springy turf and turned to look around. The gravestone directly behind him caught his eye. _That name_, he thought, though he did not recognise the language the rest of the epitaph was written in. A name he remembered from four years previous, the name of Bertha Jorkins, who had betrayed vital information to Voldemort._

_Then Harry had taken off, flying high again he soared over the forest and up towards the mountains, up towards that valley. Into it he had flown, through the dark and stifling woods where dark creatures disturbed the undergrowth. He flew to the far end where a sliver of rock came down from the mountains to meet the forest. Here Harry stopped, landing once more on the ground. He carefully looked around. To him, everything seemed to be tense, waiting for some unknown event to pass. As he looked towards the outcrop of rock he saw a movement in the shadows. Watching in horror, his eyes drawn to that spot he saw, like a black blossoming flower, the body of Lord Voldemort rising from the ground. The face was distorted by bloodied gashes which stretched across from the left temple to the right cheek. The once fiery eyes were pale and cloudy. The remaining flesh was rotten, and the cloak Voldemort wore was tattered and muddied. Then, as Harry watched the figure loom in front of him, there appeared a light. It seemed as though Voldemort's body was cracking open. Harry threw his arm over his head to shield his eyes from this terrible light. When he dared look again, a moment later, there was only the black cloak, crumpled on the ground, and slithering out of it, a dark green snake, with ridges along its back. It reared its head, its flaming red eyes looking at Harry, then turned and disappeared between the towering rocks._

_There was a flash of lighting, closely followed by a peel of thunder, and as Harry turned to look at the ominous sky, the first raindrops hit his upturned face. The water woke him up._

Harry, who had bowed as head as he recounted the final part of his dream, looked up. Hermione was sitting, ashen face, her hands running through her hair. Ron was gazing at Harry, a mixture of horror and revulsion on his face.

"You-know-who…back?" he almost choked.

"I didn't know what to think", Harry replied.

"You watched him fall", Hermione's voice was a whisper.

"Yes, I did. But that feeling I got that week. I knew it - it was inescapable -Voldemort was still out there."

"But how?"

"I really don't know. Some of the things he did to himself - to escape death. He told me, through his screams, as I held him under my final curse. He shouted 'You still have not finished me Potter!' But I didn't believe him, until that dream, and that sense of dread that came to me during that week at Privet Drive."

"So you decided to try and find him?"

"Yes, I figured the last thing we needed was for another Death Eater, another Peter Pettigrew", Harry balled up his fists, "to get to him first, again. This time it would be me."

"How did you know where to look?" said Ron. 

Hermione gave a tutting sound, but Harry answered.

"Something struck me during the following week. Every time we had heard mention of Voldemort going into retreat it had been connected with a forest in Albania. That was where Quirrel went during his summer before joining Hogwarts, and it was also where Bertha Jorkins went missing. I knew then that her grave which I had seen in my dream was in an Albanian village, and that the hiding place of Voldemort was the forest in that valley close by"

"So you just flew straight off?"

"Well no, I tired to find some information out first. I thought that maybe the Ministry would have filed some sort of report, with the details of Bertha's death. Unfortunately the whole place was still in chaos. People wouldn't leave me alone. I just got frustrated in the end – leaving the country seemed the only sane thing to do. Even if it meant trudging through half of Albania, I would find that valley."

"So you didn't speak to anyone about it?" Ron said.

"Not really no, but I did see a few people before I left. I came to St Mungo's to see you. You were in that trance so I just sat by the bed for a while. Then your dad came in and I didn't really want to talk to him. I met Professor Lupin on the way out. I think he had been to collect his prescription. He was the one person I told of my plans. We went and had a drink in the Leaky Cauldron, I told him about trying to find Bertha Jorkins' grave, but didn't mention Voldemort."

"Why not?" said Hermione.

"I didn't want to make the mistake I made at Hogwarts – it had to be just Voldemort and I. Anyway, he agreed to help me. He would get in contact with some of the Eastern European werewolf communities. See if they had heard of or could track down this cemetery."

"Did you see Dumbledore at all?" said Hermione, who evidently remembered the card from earlier on.

"Yeah, I saw him shortly before I left. He was talking about leaving me to tie up any loose ends whilst he took a long holiday in Bermuda"

"Loose ends?"

"Yeah, if I hadn't been quite one hundred percent sure that there was something wrong up until that point; Dumbledore's words sealed it for me."

"You think Dumbledore knew?" said Hermione.

"Of course he knew", Ron's voice was filled with awe, "He's Dumbledore!"

"But letting Harry go off to face who-knows-what in some forest in Eastern Europe! I thought Dumbledore had more sense than that!"

"He knew Harry could handle it!"

"Yeah, anyway", said Harry, cutting them off before any bickering could begin, "I felt a bit more confident after seeing Dumbledore, so I apparated that night."

"And when was this?"

"The middle of July, two weeks after we finished at Hogwarts"

"So you spent a month trudging round Albania?"

"Yeah. Professor Lupin was with me for the first week. Unfortunately no-one he knew had heard of this grave. Then it got close to the full moon so he had to return to England. I haven't seen him since."

"So what did you do?"

"I just went from village to village. I knew it was a small place so I avoided the towns and cities. I searched every cemetery I could find. I camped out most nights, though sometimes I stayed at an inn so I could get some hot food. I never stayed long in one place though – the people seemed pretty suspicious of me. Anyway", he paused to count the days, "two days ago I finally found it."

"The grave?"

"Yeah, it was just like the dream; a small village, a ruined church and a cemetery with neat white headstones. Almost in the centre I found her grave."

"So you went to find this valley"

  
"Well I was about to, but as I was leaving the cemetery something strange caught my eye. It was another headstone, but this one, unlike the rest, was covered in ivy and brambles. It looked like it had been abandoned for years. I went over to it, and cleared some of the stuff from it, but I couldn't read any of the writing on it. I decided to leave it and maybe come back to it later"

"What was it that made you look at it?"  
  
"I don't know – like I said, it just looked out of place - odd"

Hermione nodded slowly, she seemed to be about to ask more but Ron cut in. 

"So what did you do then?"

"Well I went off in search of the valley. I climbed up out of the village and into the forest. It was further than it seemed in my dream, probably about five or six miles. Out of the trees ahead reared these two great rocks, coming from the mountains on either side. On them were scrawled strange symbols, like those Egyptian things?"

"Hieroglyphics", Hermione said promptly

"Yeah, like those. Strange symbols, seemed to involve a lot of snakes. It reminded me of the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, the snakes looked so real."

"You think Salazar Slytherin had some hand in this place?"

"Maybe - I don't know why, but Voldemort had definitely been returning there, ever since he first fell, on the night when my parents…. When I…. When the curse rebounded on him."

"What did you find?"

"Not a lot at first. I followed a track down into the valley. It was very quiet - disturbingly so. There was no sound of animals, even the breeze seemed to have stopped. I kept on going, following the track through the forest until I came out on the other side. I recognised it immediately – that sliver of rock – from the dream"

"But Voldemort wasn't there", said Ron, a worried look on his face, "there was no rotting corpse?"

"No, I had to go into the rock. I had to follow the snake I saw in my dream. So I took out my wand, and went in."

Harry paused, but neither Ron nor Hermione spoke.

"It was a narrow fissure, which led to a tunnel that sloped steeply down. The floor was damp and I kept slipping. Thankfully there was such a noise coming from below that I didn't think I would be heard"

"What was the noise?"

"I came to the end of the tunnel, and waited behind another buttress of rock. Beyond was a cavern, lit by flaming torches. It was complete bedlam. The place seemed to be full of bats."

_Harry crouched down on the floor and watched the scene through widened eyes. All of a sudden a voice rang out. _

_"Enough!" it screamed._

_Harry turned, trying to find the source of this new disturbance. The tunnel behind him was dark, so he could see nothing. Turning his attention back to the chamber he saw that the bats had fallen silent and were cowering on the floor. Now that the cavern was clear Harry noticed for the first time the jet black dais that rose from the centre. On it there appeared a blinding arc of light. The intensity of the light was such that Harry had to cover his eyes. When he dared open them again he saw that on the dais there now stood a snake, dark green with sharp ridges along its back. It was the same snake he had seen in his dream, its red eyes flickering with a hidden fire. The voice came again, from everywhere at once._ __

_"Watchers of the night, your undiminishing desire to serve the master has not gone unnoticed. Now at the very end of it he has come to you. Look now upon the last physical manifestation of the dark Lord Voldemort!"_

_Harry watched as the snake surveyed its audience. Then it started to speak. For a moment all Harry heard was an angry, low hissing, but as he looked into the snakes eyes something happened and he understood, he heard every word._

_"And so, this moment has finally come", the snake said, "Even in the depths of my darkest despair, during my last stay in this cave, I never imagined how low I would finally sink."_

_As he had crouched Harry had wanted to step forward and kill the snake. But now, all he felt was pity. Pity and revulsion at what he had reduced Lord Voldemort to. What he had reduced Tom Riddle, a boy so like himself, to._

_Then he watched the snake pounce on the helpless bat it had summoned to the dais. To Harry, in that moment all pity was washed away. As the snake's fangs crushed the convulsing body of the bat, it was to Harry as if the snake was deciding its own doom. Images of people flashed in front of Harry, each one being crushed in the snakes jaw. First his father, then mother, then he saw Frank and Alice Longbottom. He saw Cedric Diggory and Sirius Black. Many more faces came; nameless muggles, Hogwarts students, members of the Order. Then came Ron and Seamus Finnigan. Finally Neville Longbottom appeared and as the snakes jaw closed on him Harry saw his mouth silently word, "For us"._

_Harry knew what to do. Standing up he faced the snake, raising his wand in front of him. He drew all those peoples' memories into him, and anger and rage at Voldemort coursed through him, as though it had replaced the very blood in his veins. As the snake watched him, helpless, Harry shouted:_

_"AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

"Wow", said Ron. Both Ron had Hermione had listened to Harry in shocked silence, neither daring to interrupt as he recounted the events of that night.

"So, he's dead?" said Hermione, and again her voice sounded uncertain.

"Yes. The bats left in a flurry of squawks and shouts and so I was alone in the chamber. I went over to the dais and all that remained was the lifeless body of the snake"

"Did you touch it?" said Ron, the look of awe still evident on his face.

"As I watched it, it erupted into flames. I thought for a minute it might be doing a phoenix trick, but all that was left was a pile of red-grey ashes. I put them into a bag I had in my cloak pocket, and left as quickly as possible."

"Do you still have them?" Ron looked at Harry suspiciously, as though he was expecting Harry to draw them out of his pocket.

"Yes – I am taking them into Ron's Dad so they can identify them as Tom Riddle's. Then the Ministry can finally show people what they want – proof of Voldemort's demise."

As Ron had become more and more interested in the details of his story, it seemed to Harry that Hermione had grown much quieter.

  
"What are you thinking Hermione?"

"Oh" she said, jerking round to look him, "Sorry, I was just thinking. Do you know what that valley is called?"

"No, I never asked anyone that."

"Who did you meet – I thought you said you travelled alone?"

"Well, it was after I left that place. When I got back to the valley floor the sun had set and the night was deep and dark. It took me much longer to get out; the track wasn't so sure of itself in certain places. Eventually I reached the two rocks that guarded the valley. As I passed through it seemed that something changed. It was as though the land gave a sigh of relief. Anyway, I made my way down the track back towards the lights of the village. I guess I must have tripped over a root or something because the next thing I knew I was lying on my back, it was morning, and an old muggle was watching over me."

"An old muggle?" Ron almost gasped, "What was he doing there?"

"That I don't know. Maybe it was his usual morning walk, although it was about six in the morning." Harry shrugged; he had been too disorientated to wonder why the old man had found him when he did. He should have asked his daughter.

"So what happened then?"

Harry described how the old man had cooled his head with the piece of material torn from his cloak, how he had led him back to the village and negotiated a bed for the day in the inn.

"Then you just apparated back to London?"

"Not quite. I got some food at the inn, but whilst I was eating the daughter of the old muggle came over to me. She spoke English and wanted to let me know it was her father who had looked after me – I guess she wanted me to thank him, which I did. Anyway, I thought that since she could speak English I would get her to translate the epitaphs on the graves I had found the previous night."

"Bertha Jorkins' and the…other one?"

"Yes, Bertha Jorkins' was fairly straight forward. It didn't really reveal much, except that the villagers had thought quite highly of her, though I don't know how long she stayed there.

"But the other grave?" Hermione was leaning forward now, like Harry she evidently felt this was the most important part of his story.

"She wouldn't say what it said out loud. She went all funny, started shouting at me, about leaving and never returning."

"So you don't know what it says?"

"Yes, she was kind enough, in her anger, to write down the epitaph."

"So…?"

"I'll show you the note", Harry said, raising his wand, "_Accio__ cloak!"_

Harry's much maligned and travel worn cloak made its way down the garden, landing folded up in Harry's lap. He unfurled it and started going through his pockets. There were many scraps of paper, his tent, spare clothes, sweet wrappers, bits of string and other assorted objects. It wasn't until Harry got to the twelfth pocket that he found what he was looking for. A small scrap of paper, folded tightly. He tossed it over to Hermione who snatched it up and unfolded it. She laid it flat on the table so that Ron, who was leaning over to look, could also see the message. Harry didn't need to look, he could almost see it when he shut his eyes.

_Though the power of the dark may wax and wane_

_This place shall ever remain_

_A place where living forces dwell_

_To heal the weak or stengthen the old_

_Here lies the body of Grindlewald_

"Grindlewald? Isn't he the one that Dumbledore defeated?" said Ron; his eyes were bulging with the shock of this latest revelation.

"Yes Ron", said Hermione, who was staring at the note, seemingly unsure what to say.

"I think this explains why Voldemort chose it as his retreat when the going got tough – it had some power thanks to a previous dark wizard's influence."

"This makes it seem like the dark wizard's all stem from one sort of source", said Hermione, finally looked up from the note, "As though one dark wizard's defeat causes another to begin to rise."

"It does seem like that way", said Harry, but then he saw the look on Ron's face, "However knowing about these two particular dark wizards doesn't necessarily mean the same applies to other dark wizards", he continued hastily.

Harry had tried to consider this during the few hours he had had to himself since he'd discovered the connection between Voldemort and Grindlewald, but had failed to reach any significant conclusions. Looking round the table, he saw that both Hermione and Ron were silent, presumably reflecting on Harry's strange stories and discoveries.

After a few moments of silence Hermione spoke, though her voice was hushed, as though she were talking to herself.

"I wonder how the connection between Grindlewald and that valley was maintained."

"Sorry Hermione – I didn't quite hear you", said Ron turning to look at her.

"Oh", said Hermione, evidently realising she had spoken aloud, "I was just wondering how Grindlewald managed to maintain the connection between the valley and himself."

"Isn't his grave close enough?"

"I don't think it is his grave that matters. You said it was five or six miles from the village to the valley?"

"Yes, it was something like that."

"Well for that sort of power there would have had to be something actually in the valley – I wonder what it could have been."

"Maybe something to do with that cavern Harry saw", said Ron.

"Yes – there was that dais – that definitely looked man-made."

"Well I suppose you could be right – although I would have thought it would be something smaller than that. "

"I'm sure there must be more to this valley than we suspect."

"Yes you're probably right Harry, but", Hermione said, exasperatedly, "You didn't even find out the name of it."

"I will talk to Mr Weasley about it tomorrow – since that place has connections with Grindlewald _and _Voldemort the Ministry will probably want to investigate it."

"That sounds like an excellent plan Harry – I am so glad you are not trying to do anything yourself"

"My adventuring days are over Hermione. I just want a quiet, simple, boring life."

"Well, it remains to be seen whether or not you will get that mate", said Ron, collecting the boxes and Butterbeer.

"Yeah" Harry sighed.

"I almost forgot", said Hermione, "If you look upstairs – I have put your birthday presents, from Ron and I, on your bed. We weren't sure where to send them to so we just kept them ready for when you returned"

"Really?" said Harry, looking up "You shouldn't have. Thank you very much."

"Don't  mention it – I just hope it fits" said Hermione, smiling.

The two of them gathered Hermione's work up and headed back into the house, following Ron who was carrying the remains of dinner. The sun was finally setting, and the sombre tones of dusk were starting to stretch across the garden.

***

An hour later Harry found himself sitting on the front steps of the house, leaning back gazing up at the shimmering points of light spread out above him.

 "What a lovely night", said Harry, cradling his head in his hands.

Ron came out clutching several bottles of Butterbeer. He passed them around and then turned to go back inside.

"Aren't you joining us?" said Hermione, turning round to look at Ron.

"Yeah sure - in a moment - my Mum just called. I'll only be a few minutes."

"Ok, no problem."

"Everybody should spend a month in a hot dry place during the summer", said Harry, taking a draft from his bottle, "When you come back you really appreciate the pleasantries of an English summer."

"I don't think you should have come back. I was having a perfectly good, indoors-y sort of summer before you returned. This is the second night in a row I have been out after midnight looking at the stars!"

"A-ha, and that's another thing. The centaurs were right – it will be a banner headline in the Daily Prophet once I have taken those ashes into Mr Weasley – they said that 'only the serpent can cease to be'. I reckon they saw Mars' intersection with Draco or some such rubbish."

"Hey", said Hermione suddenly looking at Harry "You're wearing my t-shirt – the Firebolt one! Stand up, lets have a look"

Harry reluctantly stood up. The t-shirt Hermione had got him for his birthday had been very nice, but unfortunately was a little too large for him. As he stood up Ron returned from inside the house.

"Look Ron – what do you think?"

"Hermione – you have known Harry for eight  years and yet you still don't know what size t-shirt he wears!"

"I'm so sorry Harry" said Hermione, wringing her hands gently.

"It's ok – I really like it – nice and airy for when you are up on the broom!"

Hermione still looked full of consternation so Harry instead turned to Ron.

"How is your mum?"

"Oh, she is fine – she wants us all to go for Sunday lunch this weekend."

"Oh Ron", said Hermione, "I promised my Mum I would go and see her and Dad this Sunday."

"That's ok Hermione", though the sudden slump in his shoulders suggested he was disappointed, "We can go some other time"

"You mean you want to see my parents too?"

"Of course – they are muggles – it is always fun going round there!"

"Oh, well ok, I better tell her to expect more people. Harry – would you like to come too?"

"Yeah – definitely – your Mum's Sunday roast is to die for", Harry replied, struggling to speak through his rapidly salivating mouth.

"Ok, it's a date", said Hermione happily, taking a long draw from her Butterbeer.

"There was something else Harry", said Ron.

"Yes?"

"My Dad can see you at nine tomorrow morning – he said to go up to his office."

"Right, thanks" ,said Harry, though he was disappointed he wouldn't be getting another lie-in.

Harry remained in silence for a few minutes, relaxing in the tranquillity of the night and the close proximity he had to his two best friends. He thought about the hours before, when he had told them of his summer. He realised now that getting his story out in the open had released the tension that had filled his body since he had left Albania, and that had built steadily during the summer.

The calm was disturbed by Hermione who had stood up

"I have a practical session tomorrow morning so I am going to bed now.

"Yeah, I suppose if I am going to the Ministry I should get some sleep as well", said Harry reluctantly standing up.

He followed his two friends in through the front door and closed it behind him. As he leant against it he felt calm for the first time in many days. He was ready to face the Ministry and to sort this business out once and for all.

Harry Potter slowly climbed the stairs, listening to the sound of running water from the bathroom, and the sound of a wardrobe door banging in Hermione's room. As he reached the top of the stairs he flicked the light switch, sending the hallway into darkness. It was a different darkness to that which lingered in a cavern several thousand miles away, and for the young man who stepped lightly towards his bed, it held no fear.


	7. Another Beginning

**Chapter 7: Another Beginning**

The next morning Harry woke early so that he could take a long, hot shower before facing the extensive day he had ahead of him.

The house was still and silent as he made his way to the shower room which was cold from a window that had been left open overnight. Stepping from the chill of the room, he rejoiced in the stream of invigorating, hot water that fell around him. He stood for several minutes as he gently massaged his head and lathered his hair. He allowed himself to breathe in the calming essences of Hermione's shampoo that he had to use until he could get himself sorted.

After leaving the sanctuary of the shower he stood for a few moments, a soft towel wrapped around his waist, examining his body in the mirror. Already, the short time back in civilization had had a marked effect on his appearance. In Albania he had become increasingly thin and haggard, his ribs clearly defined down his front, and his face drawn and gaunt as though only a thin sheet was drawn over his skull. Now he looked more fleshed out. His bruises were slowly fading, and only the faint red lines across his torso showed where Voldemort had delivered the near fatal blow in Hogwarts two months previous. His tussled hair was erratic as ever but he felt more content with his appearance than he had done in a long time.

He thought back to the last two years in Hogwarts. Then the war had raged long and hard and he had taken to hiding in an abandoned store room he had found on the sixth floor. He had stored his books and materials there, and if he wasn't in classes, or with Dumbledore, or Snape, he would lock himself in it and study by the light of a single flickering candle. At least he liked to think he had studied, but now looking back he was not so sure.

He knew that Hermione and Ron had been anxious about him, but he felt that shutting them out was the best thing. At first they had tried to convince him otherwise, but by that point he was too far gone. He couldn't stand being around other people, and the more time he spent away, the more he had become suspicious and angry with the world around him. Towards the middle of the seventh year he spent virtually all his spare time in his hiding place, and like Kreacher, the house elf at Grimmauld Place, he had given up on the world and started to dwell on a past he had never had. He became weaker, and his body fell into a state of only half life. Dumbledore seemed unable to help him, even though they spent time together; Dumbledore passing on his immense knowledge of fighting the dark arts. No one could help him, he only held on to life so that he could deprive Voldemort of it, which was all he wanted....

"Harry!"

The shout from the other side of the bathroom door shook Harry out of his memories. Hastily gathering his things he left the bathroom, hurrying past a dishevelled haired Ron who stood bleary eyed on the landing clutching his own towel. They exchanged silent greetings and Harry returned quickly to his room. There he dressed before making his way downstairs to get some breakfast.

When he arrived Hermione was already there, her head buried in the Daily Prophet as usual.

"Morning Hermione. What's new?"

"Hello Harry", she said turning slightly to look at him, "Another Death Eater has been taken in. The Aurors tracked him down near Aberystwyth sometime in the night."

"Who was it?" he said, sitting down with a bowl of cereal. He knew that deep down he didn't care which one it happened to be – each was as bad as the other and all of them would have to be caught.

"The Ministry isn't releasing details."

"Is that what it has been like all summer?"

"Yes, very much so. They have only announced it fully when one of the big names has been caught. Not that there of many of them still around – thanks to you."

"It was the Order", Harry mumbled into his cereal, not wanting to get into this discussion right now.

"So, what time are you leaving?" Hermione said, briskly moving to the new topic.

"I'll give it another half an hour or so. I am going to apparate."

"That one tube journey the other night was enough to convince you that apparating has its benefits?"

"I guess so."

"Morning you two!"

They both turned to see Ron step into the room. He had on an elegant red ministry robe, the emblem prominent on his left side. Underneath Harry caught glimpses of a slightly worn pair of black trousers and a chequered shirt.

"You are looking smart Ron", said Hermione casting her eyes over him, "Meeting someone special?" she finished, a wry smile on her face.

"No", said Ron, a little too quickly it seemed to Harry, "I thought I would take Harry up to the Minister's office."

"Thanks", said Harry; he always seemed to get confused by the office layout in the Ministry of Magic, "I'm not putting you out of your way am I?"

"No - not at all. The office I work in is not far from there."

"Ok, when do you want to head off?"

"Well, let me get some breakfast first mate!"

With Ron accompanying him Harry had no choice but to brave the underground again. This time though it was rush hour and the entire place was packed with muggles. Harry and Ron were well hidden, even if the prying eyes of Rita Skeeter and Colin Creevey were still lurking.

Half an hour later Harry found himself in the familiar damp alleyway off The Strand. Ron walked past the telephone box Harry normally used when visiting the Ministry and carried on until he stopped in front of a grimy door set slightly back from the main passageway. The door was covered in filth and didn't appear to have a handle. Ron pressed his hand to the door, leaving it for a second before withdrawing it. Harry could see that a clear handprint was now set in the dust. Slowly the remaining grime around the hand print started to flow and spiral in towards the middle of the print. From the center of the palm-print something started to grow, protruding out from the door until it formed into a neat brass handle. Ron grasped it and opened the door, allowing Harry to enter the dim corridor beyond. The corridor soon led to a set of stairs which spiralled down. A moment later, Harry emerged through a second door, into the marble atrium that stood at the entrance to the Ministry of Magic.

Despite the length of their journey, it suddenly felt as though he had had no time to think about what coming to the Ministry would mean, and how he was going to have to face the rest of the Wizarding World. Stepping out of the small antechamber into which he and Ron had appeared felt like diving under water without first taking a breath. He wasn't sure he was going to be able to come up on the other side.

The atrium was absolutely heaving with witches and wizards hurrying to start the day. Many were buried behind copies of the Daily Prophet, whilst others were concentrating on straightening out their clothes after another violent plunge through the Floo Network.

Harry and Ron joined the unassuming crowd as it headed past the Statue of Magical Brethren, rebuilt since the battle held more than two years ago. All of the representations had been resculptured. The wizard and witch had been replaced. Now the wizard had considerably more unkempt hair and the suggestion of glasses. This had always made Harry feel slightly embarrassed since it had been erected. The witch stood close by him, and the other creatures all had much haughtier bearings, none of them looking up to the witch or wizard but neither ignoring them completely. Despite the look of the wizard, Harry was very pleased with the new version of the fountain – even the house elf stood slightly away from the others, its arms crossed and a crisp looking toga draping from its shoulders.

Harry peeled away from the crowd and went over to where a portly wizard was sitting in front of a gilded desk. Eric Munch rose stiffly as Harry approached and indicated the desk, onto which Harry placed his wand.

He examined the wand, going through the usual procedure, before turning his eyes to Harry.

"'Ere, why aren't you wearing your badge?"

Ron, hurrying up behind Harry, had evidently heard this and cut in before Harry could speak.

"It's ok Eric, he is with me. I brought him in the staff entrance – he wants to go incognito."

"Why does he want to do a thing like that?" Eric said, blinking at Ron as he spoke. "'Ere, who are you anyway?" Eric said, turning slowly back to face Harry.

Harry sighed deeply. Years ago he had pretended to be Neville Longbottom, but now he was sick of hiding behind another name, and besides he wouldn't feel comfortable knowing the real Neville Longbottom was in St Mungo's.

"I'm Harry Potter; I've come to see the Minister."

There was a moment of awkward silence as these words sank in. Then Eric leant forward, his leathery hand held out, and in a low voice said, "Sorry, didn't recognise you there Mr Potter." There was a solemn moment as Eric and Harry shook hands, "My deepest thanks to you."

Harry was touched; he had expected Eric to raise a commotion. Instead he was shaking him firmly by the hand. Harry wasn't sure what to say. Thankfully Ron came to his rescue, tugging gently on his sleeve.

"Sorry, Eric, we have a meeting to get to."

"Yes, of course Mr Potter. Don't let me stop you. Have a pleasant day!"

"Thank you Eric."

And with that Harry turned and walked past the gilded screens, through the great golden gates and into the room where the lift doorways stood. Ron had made his way over to a lift in the far corner. They joined a half dozen or so other witches and wizards standing impatiently in the lift as it made its way down through the levels of the ministry. By the time they reached level one they had a flock of memos fluttering around their heads which scattered off down the hallways as the doors opened.

Harry and Ron stepped into a very elegantly furnished corridor. There was much use of gold and they felt their feet sinking slightly into the rich pile of the ruby red carpet. Lining the walls were portraits of previous Ministers of Magic. Most of them were dozing against the sides of the portraits, but some were having animated discussions. Harry caught snatches of conversation – they seemed to be discussing current affairs – Death Eater captures, Giant emissaries were all words being bandied around the corridor. As the two young men passed they picked up the attention of several characters, and shortly after, Harry heard his name being mentioned in several portraits.

Set between the portraits were heavy oak doors, all bearing important administrative titles. This was the corridor where the most important Ministry staff worked and there was a constant flurry of memos zipping between the various doors.

The final portrait they found showed the last Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, resplendent in his green bowler hat. The other portraits around him seemed to be ignoring him, though Harry was sure that a group on the far side were casting occasional glances at Fudge and snickering.

At the very end of the corridor they came to two swarthy goblins, dressed in shining gold chain mail and ruby red cloaks, standing in front of a large set of double doors. Harry could see the plaque on the front that said 'Minister of Magic'.

"State your business!" the shorter of the two goblins barked at the newcomers.

"I am Harry Potter. I have a meeting with the Minister."

The two goblins exchanged glances before bowing out of the way to admit Harry.

"So, I'll see you later then, Harry?" Ron said, "Good luck!" and with that he turned down a second corridor that branched off to the left.

Harry watched his friends retreating back before taking a deep breath and pushing the doors open. They moved surprisingly easy for things of such apparent weight. He stepped into a sumptuous office decorated in a similar style to the corridor outside. Tall windows stood on two sides of the room, casting the unnatural, charmed sunlight through into the room. There were more portraits on the wall. On the side where Harry stood, next to the doors was a large map of wizarding Britain. Harry rotated slowly, taking this all in. Then he looked to the center where an ancient, highly polished mahogany desk stood on four thick legs carved to look like dragons claws. The desk was covered with parchments and scrolls, neatly stacked in ordered piles. Several elaborately plumaged quills stood in a holder, and there was a row of different coloured ink wells. Behind the desk, almost eclipsed by its vastness sat a broad shouldered witch, a copy of the Daily Prophet spread out in front of her. She was scrutinising a story through her monocle.

"Err…?" said Harry, suddenly feeling very nervous.

With a small jump Amelia Bones looked up.

"Goodness me, is that the time?" an elaborate contraption standing on the desk, which Harry took to be a clock of sorts, was making a strange sort of humming noise. "Good morning Mr Potter."

Her slightly started expression changed to a kindly smile as she swept her sharp eyes across him.

"Please Minister, Harry is fine."

"Well in that case, Amelia is also fine. Come over here so I can see you properly."

Harry made his way across the room, skirting the desk to stand facing her. He was head and shoulders above her short grey hair but he still felt rather small.

"My dear Harry", she stepped forward and took his hand, "It is so very good to see you. How ever are we going to repay you?"

"For what Minister?"

"Now don't insult my intelligence Harry – you know what I am talking about."

"I just did what I had to do", Harry shrugged.

"Yes you did Harry, you stepped in to meet your destiny, where others would have run from it. The entire wizarding world is in your debt Harry. Who knows what Voldemorts ultimate plan was, the only thing we can be sure of is that it would have meant a terrible and foul future for us all. You have rid us of that threat Harry – we owe our continuing existence as a good wizarding race to you."

Harry felt overwhelmed. Sometime during the last two years the purpose of his struggle against Voldemort had changed from protecting his friends and loved ones, to a personal vendetta between the two of them. Trapped inside the castle whilst the wizarding world fought a war that had raged across Europe, Harry had only ever thought of Voldemort. Dumbledore and Snape had trained him simply to face Voldemort. To him that was all it was about. He hadn't saved the world – he had avenged the pain and suffering Voldemort had inflicted on him over the last eighteen years.

"Everyone played their part", said Harry. It was the simple truth.

"Yes but you were the key to everything. It rested on your shoulders and you came through for us. We are eternally grateful. There is much within my power in this position – if I can do anything for you, please name it."

"I'm not really sure what to say Minister", said Harry, again suddenly feeling nervous.

Just at that moment the double doors swung open and in walked a house-elf bearing a silver tea tray, followed by Ron's dad – Arthur Weasley. The house elf had on a ruby red sheet worn toga style with a Ministry of Magic clasp at the shoulder. Arthur Weasley was wearing a cloak similar to that which Ron had been wearing earlier on, and looked very smart indeed.

"Ah excellent!" exclaimed Madam Bones upon seeing him, "Good morning Arthur" She turned to watch the house-elf set the tray down on a table in the corner, "And thank you very much."  
  
"Will there be anything else Madam Minister?" the house elf squeaked.

"No thank you - that will be all."

The three people watched the elf leave the room, the doors shutting silently behind him. Arthur immediately went up to Harry and clapped a hand upon his shoulder.

"It's good to see you Harry!" Arthur said, a broad smile on his face. Up close Harry could see his kindly face was lined – he had been in the vanguard of the war and it showed. "I would just like to add my humble thanks to what I'm sure the Minister has already said."

"Thank you Mr Weasley, but as I have explained to the Minister – I was just doing my bit. Everyone played a part – you more than most."

"Well anyway Harry", said Mr Weasley, sounding slightly put out, "you have done a great thing and we are extremely grateful."

"Yes Arthur, I have explained this to him."  
  
"Well, Harry is known for his stubbornness", Arthur said, giving Harry a small wink.

"Now that you have arrived Arthur, I think it would be beneficial to hear your account of Voldemort's final hour Harry. That is if you are comfortable with telling us at this time."

"I am ready", Harry sighed, silently thanking Ron and Hermione for listening to him yesterday.

"Splendid! Why don't we all take a seat", Madam Bones walked over to the corner of the office. Here there were arranged several comfy leather armchairs set around the low coffee table where the house elf had placed the tray. They sat down and Harry began to talk whilst Mr Weasley poured them each a cup of piping hot tea.

Harry told them everything, just as he had done with Ron and Hermione the previous day. He explained about his reasons for suspecting Albania, a brief account of his travels, and then a detailed description of his actions on the day when Voldemort fell.

The Minister and Mr Weasley listened with a keen interest. Harry thought the Minister might be able to shed new light on certain things, but she hardly spoke, allowing him to continue his narrative. Mr Weasley had a quill out and had quickly covered several parchments in his small, neat writing.

Harry finally came to the end of his account. He sat back in the luxuriant chair and took a deep breath. The Minister was sat, looking at him intently, though her monocle hung down the front of her blouse. Mr Weasley was hurriedly finishing off the last few sentences.

"May we see note, and the ashes please?" the Minister sounded slightly shaken.

"Of course", said Harry, pulling them out and placing them on the coffee table so that they could both reach them. There was the small pouch Harry had used to carry the ashes, and the crumpled note he had been given in the cemetery.

Mr Weasley looked grimly at the pouch before putting it on top of the parchment.

"I shall get this analysed Harry. As you said, this will be indisputable proof of the death of Voldemort. Any doubters will be silenced by this."

Harry was about to answer, but was caught off by the sharp inhalation of breath the Minister had suddenly taken.

"It is as I thought!"

"What is Minister?" said Mr Weasley, turning to look at the note she held in her hand.

"Arthur, do you remember the report we filed on the Jorkins case?"

"Yes, I have had to use it a lot for this report on Voldemort."

"Then you will know the name of the valley – the valley Harry visited the other day?"

"Yes, of course, it is the Valley of Aquastilla."

The Minister said nothing; she simply nodded and continued to stare at the note. After a few moments Mr Weasley spoke up.

"What are you thinking Minister?"

Madam Bones shook herself and placed the monocle back in her eye.

"Nothing Arthur – will you get your group to have a look through this today? There may be something we need to do", it seemed to Harry that at this moment she gave him a fleeting glance, "soon."

"Very good Minister – we shall get onto it right away."

Mr Weasley gathered the parchment he had been taking notes on and stood up to leave.

"Thank you for coming Arthur."

Harry stood up so that he could shake Mr Weasley's hand.

"Thank you Harry – now that I have the details you shouldn't have to recount any of it again if you don't want to."

"What is going to happen to that?" said Harry, pointing at the sheaf of parchment.

"Well, we are going to assimilate it into the report we are putting together on Voldemort and his defeat. Your story is the backbone to this whole case. Anyway, I must be going. I'm sure I shall see you very soon Harry."

They shook hands and Mr Weasley left the room, the doors sliding shut after him to leave Harry alone, once again, with the Minister of Magic.

"Now Harry, where were we?" said the Minister, tapping her wand against her monocle, "Ah yes, your reward. I can give you anything Harry – what do you want?"

"Well, I suppose what I really want", said Harry, he had had time to think it through whilst telling his story, "is a normal life."

"So, what do you ask of me?" Madam Bones replied.

"I am not sure. I still have some of the money which my parents left me. I suppose I should think about looking for a job."

"A job?" said the Minister, eyeing him strangely, "I suppose we could find something fitting – though why you want to work Harry is beyond me."

"Like I said, I just want to forget all this stuff and live a normal life."

"Well, what do you think you would be good at?"

"That is the trouble – I don't think there is a job for me, what with such appalling NEWTs", sighed Harry dejectedly.

"Nonsense!"

"But I don't have the required qualifications", protested Harry.

"Well, whilst Hogwarts may view grades as the distinguishing mark of a good wizard. I myself believe that a wizard may distinguish himself simply by exhibiting great skill and power in the face of almost insurmountable odds. You Harry, are one of the most powerful wizards I have ever come across. I don't care whether you have a full compliment of NEWTS or no NEWTS, what you showed two months ago, and by your account this very week, is a strength and determination far exceeding your years."

"So…", said Harry, slightly taken aback by this.

"So, Harry, one might say that the world is your oyster."

"But, about a job…?"

"Harry", the Minister arched an eyebrow, "I didn't believe that stubbornness is held in quite such high regard."

"But what can I be?" Harry replied, slightly perplexed now.

"The question is Harry, what do you _want_ to be?"

Harry shrugged his shoulders; he genuinely didn't know what to say to that question. He saw across his mind various images flashing – winning the Qudditch World Cup, training as an Auror, joining Bill Weasley as a curse-breaker – but nothing seemed to stick for very long.

Madam Bones gave a quiet sigh, "Why don't we sit down again Harry?" she indicated the comfy armchair behind Harry. "We've spent enough time discussing your past. I think it is time we started looking to the future."

They sat in silence for a moment. Harry once again trying to reconcile the skills he knew he possessed with a possible future.

"Harry, since you seem determined to get a job, the best I can do is offer you a post here in the Ministry."

"But…"

"No Harry, no 'but's'. I already have explained my views on your education. I believe you possess the skills necessary to succeed in virtually any department here in the Ministry. However, I think that although now you may desire a 'quiet' life, you would grow tired with a desk job. In lieu of that I would ask whether you would want to join C-Branch?"

"What branch?" said Harry, who was completely confused.

"C-Branch, it is a small part of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, associated with the Auror Division."

"And what would I be doing?"

"It is essentially a research and development team which specialises in countering the use of the dark arts. They are responsible for providing support to the Aurors out in the field with instant feedback on situations. They also work on developing counter-curses, curses and so on that can be used against dark wizards. Your knowledge of curses, and your experience fighting the dark arts would be an invaluable asset to C-Branch."

"That sounds brilliant!" said Harry, for the first time actually feeling excited about the prospects of starting a job.

The Minister smiled for the first time in a while.

"Excellent Harry. I am glad I have managed to find something that appeals to you. Obviously Arthur is the head of the Department, but I shall ask you to report to Melville Cummin, the head of C-Branch. If you go out of the door and turn left, the first door on the right is my assistant's office. Talk to him - he will be able to make all the arrangements."

"Thank you Minister."

The Minister again arched an eyebrow, "No Harry, thank you", and with that she stood up, seemingly indicating that the meeting was over. Harry felt a wave of relief wash over him, he stood also and shook her hand which she held out to him, "Good luck, Harry, I hope I shall see in the corridors very soon!"

Harry gathered up his cloak and was just about to turn to leave when a thought struck him.

"Minister?"

"Yes Harry?"

"In the letter you sent me you said you would want me to speak to the…the Press Relations people?"

"Oh no! I knew I shouldn't have asked Asark to take care of that letter. I am very sorry Harry, I was very busy the other day and so I asked my assistant, Asark, to write to you and arrange this meeting. Evidently he took it on himself to inject a bit of his own venom into it. I believe that certain members of his family came off rather badly from your defeat of Voldemort."

"Why do you still employ him if his allegiance is uncertain?" asked Harry.

"Oh, he is exceedingly loyal, but at times he does let certain things slip. That is a goblin for your – marvellous assistants, but they can get carried away sometimes. Anyway, no need to worry about PR, my department is more than capable of handling that. We'll get everything sorted out with the press."

"Ok, thanks Minister. Good bye."

"Good bye dear."

Harry left the room and stepped back out into the corridor. The two goblins standing outside admitted him past and he took the left corridor, down which he had seen Ron walk earlier. Just as the Minister had described, there was a door on the right hand side with a gold sign that announced 'Asark Rish'Gaad: Assistant to the Minister'. Harry wasn't sure why, but there was something about them that made him nervous around Goblins. He paused for a moment before giving the door a gentle knock. Almost immediately the door swung open and he walked forward into the room.

For a moment he thought there was no one there. He was about to turn to leave when he heard a noise up above his right ear. He turned and came face to face with the ugliest goblin he had yet come across staring down at him. The goblin was standing at the top of a small step ladder he was using to reach some files stacked high up on the wall. He had a large forehead, close cropped dark hair, and a set of pince-nez balanced on the end of his long, pointy nose.

"May I help?" he said in an oily sort of way.

"Err…yes…the Minister sent me."

"Oh she did, did she? Well come on, out with out, I don't have all day!"

"Yes, well, she has given me a job in C-Branch", Harry said, trying to make it sound important, despite knowing very little about it.

To his consternation the goblin suddenly let out a high pitched cackle. He descended the steps, now carrying several ledgers, and went over to his cluttered desk where he dropped them with a resounding thud.

"You in C-Branch?" the Goblin cackled even louder, clutching his sides.

"Yes", said Harry, starting to feel rather annoyed.

"I don't believe you."

Just then a memo flittered in through the doorway that Harry had left open. The goblin snatched it out of the air, adjusted his glasses and read it. The cackling laughter died instantly and instead he went over to a filing cabinet, from which he withdrew an official looking piece of parchment.

"Very well boy. I will deal with your application. Here fill this out", he said, shoving the piece of parchment over to Harry and nodding at a withered quill pen near Harry's side of the desk.

Harry took the form and filled out his personal details. He had to keep back a sigh when he reached the 'next of kin' details. He had no desire whatsoever to put his Aunt Petunia down, so instead he wrote in Hermione's details. After he had done it he stood staring at her name for a moment, wondering why he had put hers and not Ron's. He quickly filled in the rest of the form so that he could hand it back to the goblin.

"Your introduction pack will be with you within one to three working days, though you should allow for delays due to the owl - ruddy creatures. You will need to report on Monday morning to the Department Induction Centre on Level Two where you will receive further instructions."

"Ok, thanks", said Harry, hurrying to replace the quill and leave as quickly as possible.

Ten minutes later he was back in the atrium sitting on the side of the Fountain of Magical Brethren. He had thought about what else he had been intending to do in the ministry, but had come to the conclusion that it was unnecessary. He had already found a job, and if the Minister of Magic didn't care about his NEWTs he doubted anyone else would. He therefore decided to forego his visit to the Wizarding Exam Authority. He could talk over it with Dumbledore or Lupin when he next saw them – they would be able to tell him whether his lack of NEWTs would be any sort of a draw back.

The atrium was still extremely busy with many witches and wizards, magical beings and assorted oddities coming and going. Harry let them pass by as he thought about his meeting with the minister and his new job. It certainly sounded interesting, but already he could feel something in the pit of his stomach that was definitely the first sign of nerves. As he got up and walked to one of the apparition chambers he tried to push it down, thinking that he still had the weekend free before he would be back here. Then with a sudden realisation he welcomed in the nerves. He had realised that they were perfectly normal, human nerves, connected with a new stage in his life, rather than anything that had come before.

It seemed that Harry Potter wore a slight smile as he took the wand out of his pocket and sent himself back to Hermione's house. He left a flurrying of whisperings and mutterings in the entrance hall. Once again there was a whisper in the Wizarding World of 'the boy who lived'.


End file.
